


Clarity

by yodasyoyo



Series: Fall Right Back to You [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Dreamsharing, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Nightmares, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, Post-Nogitsune, Pre-Slash, Stilinski Family Feels, canon AU, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-05 07:10:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4170717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodasyoyo/pseuds/yodasyoyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Nogitsune and Stiles is consumed with guilt and having nightmares. He doesn't think things could get any worse but then while helping Scott out he touches a magical artifact and ends up absorbing Derek's psyche into his own mind. This can only end well... right?</p><p>***This work is part of a series which is now complete! yay! The series is angsty but it does have a happy ending I promise.***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So first off. I haven't actually watched season 4 of Teen Wolf. So this is pretty much my head canon for season 4 which I am sure has little or no bearing on what actually happened. Secondly, I'm British, if I have overlooked any British-isms then I am happy to correct them. Thanks to Nicole for betaing this chapter. It's the first fic I've published to AO3, concrit welcome. If I should have tagged something and haven't then let me know.

**** _-36 days post Nogitsune-_

 Sleep eluded him again. Thoughts bubbled in his head and guilt coiled in his stomach. He almost preferred the nights when he was able to sleep, even though that inevitably meant nightmares. How fucked up was it that he was at the point where he kind of wanted the nightmares?

Nobody blamed him. It wasn't his fault.

So many people were dead. Not his fault.

 _Allison_ was dead. Not his fault.

That's what they all said, Scott, his Dad, Melissa, they all said it with sad eyes and cracked voices. Everyone had been so cautious around him since the Nogitsune.

Well, it _felt_ like it was his fucking fault.

Logically, logically he knew it wasn't, but honestly some days he _knew_ he would feel better if Scott would just scream at him or punch him maybe. He wished someone would. He wanted someone to get up in his face and really go for it. Even Derek seemed to be being _nice_ at the moment. _Nice._ What a fucking joke. He and Derek had been antagonistic, reluctant allies who shared a common interest in Scott's well-being. They'd bickered and fought, debated and pushed, pushed, pushed each other to their limits. They'd saved each other's lives so many times he'd lost count, but they'd never been _nice._

Stiles stared at his clock, it was 3AM. The digital alarm clock flicked on to the next minute relentlessly.

His phone started to vibrate on the bedside table. He blinked wearily, lids scraping against dry eyes and fumbled for the phone. Scott's caller ID flashed up.

“Scotty?” he rasped.

“Hey, Sorry dude. I didn't want to bother you, but could you meet me at the old Hale house? Bring some mountain ash. We need your help with a thing.”

Stiles rubbed a hand through his hair. “Sure. No problem. See you there.” He was tired, beaten down but not out for the count yet. Not quite yet, fuck you very much Nogitsune.

He flung his legs over the side of the bed and dressed hurriedly, grabbing a jar of mountain ash and stuffing it into his messenger bag as he ran out of his room.

 

o0o

 

The Jeep rumbled up the road to the old Hale house. Scott was already there, his eyes flaring red in the darkness, and his posture tense. Stiles parked up and scrambled out of the car making his way over.

Derek loomed in the shadows, his arms folded across his chest, mouth a taut line.

“Hey guys. What's up?” Stiles said.

“Did you bring the mountain ash?” Scott asked.

Stiles opened his messenger bag and pulled out a jar. “Yeah. What's going on?”

“There's been some trouble on the preserve over the last couple of weeks, and we think we've found why.” Scott turned, and started stomping through the forest with Derek at his shoulder. Stiles fished his flashlight out of his bag and switched it on stumbling after them.

He wasn't surprised by the trouble or the fact that he was only just hearing about it at 3am on a Saturday morning. He'd kind of been isolating himself from the supernatural stuff of late; he'd just allowed himself to drift back from it a little. Scott hadn't said anything about it, Stiles hadn't needed to. Scott knew that he needed time. Time to process everything that happened. Besides, Derek was more than willing to step in and help and Stiles knew he could trust Derek to have Scott's back.

This was different though, when it came to handling mountain ash only a human would do.

“What sort of trouble?” Stiles asked.

“A group came out to the preserve and reported hearing a mysterious voice leading them away into the middle of nowhere. Then they woke up maybe a day later,” Scott said, without turning back. “They didn't know where they were, they don't remember what happened. Of course, by that time they'd been reported missing, and the Sheriff's office were looking into it. Your Dad didn't mention it?” Scott looked across curiously. Stiles shook his head. “Well, he wanted me to check it out, you know make sure there's no supernatural element to it.”

Stiles nodded feeling yet more guilt trickle into his stomach and settle there. He didn't know how to feel about his Dad going to Scott with this stuff without mentioning it to him. Everyone was being so gentle with him. There was a time when he would have been right in the thick of things, but now, now he was more worried by his apathy. The two people he loves most in the world are out there dealing with potentially dangerous supernatural bullshit, and he's too weary, too depleted to help, maybe even to care. Perhaps it was time to get his head back in the game but he's so mired in guilt so exhausted, physically and mentally that it's like trying to pull himself out of quicksand by his shoelaces.

With an effort he dragged his attention back into the conversation and tried to engage with the current problem. Strange voices, memory loss, getting lost in the preserve. Right.

“Okaaay” Stiles said considering, “Don't get me wrong but it doesn't sound _that_ bad.” He shrugged, “I mean on my Beacon Hills bad stuff-o-meter which starts at 'a bit of a shitstorm' and goes all the way up to 'irredeemable clusterfuck' this barely registers. What makes you think it's even supernatural? Maybe they were high.”

Derek raised an eyebrow at him, “It's happened three times now. The last guy woke up to find he'd fallen down a steep slope and broke his leg in three places. He had no memory of how he'd even got there.”

“Besides there's this...” Scott said, and stopped abruptly. He sniffed the air and then gestured at a nearby tree. Stiles angled his flashlight and peered closer. Strange runes were scratched into the bark. “These are appearing around the preserve wherever an incident has been reported. It can't be a coincidence.” 

Stiles stepped closer and the ground squelched and crunched beneath him. He looked down and stumbled back a step. “Errgggh, what did I just tread in?”

“Fox carcass,” Derek said his voice sounding wryly amused. “It's been skinned.”

“And neither of you thought to warn me?”

“Sorry man,” Scott began, “it's just...” He paused suddenly and seemed to be listening intently. Derek did the same. “You hear that Derek?”

Derek nodded, his shoulders tense.

Stiles held his breath straining his ears. Then when nobody moved or did anything he whispered, “What is it?”

Neither Scott nor Derek replied immediately and Stiles failed to repress his frustration. “Not all of us have super wolfy hearing. What's going on?”

Scott started slightly and glanced at him apologetically, “Someone's calling for help. They're about two miles away. _I_ can make it quickly but...” He looked at Stiles.

“You go investigate,” Derek interjected, “Stiles and I will keep looking here and you can meet back with us, but call if you need me.”

“Thanks,” Scott said starting to bound away, just as Stiles shouted “Wait!”

Scott and Derek both stopped and turned to look at Stiles. “What if it's a trap? Did you miss the part where you said people are being lured away by strange voices? _This_ could be _that_.”

Scott looked at him seriously, “I know." He sighed. “But what if it's not? Someone could be hurt, we can't risk that, and you'll be safe with Derek.”

He turned again and without another word bounded into the darkness.

“Great!" Stiles called, "Let's split up. In the woods. In the dark. With an unknown supernatural threat on the loose. I've seen horror movies you know. This is like, rookie mistake number one.” Scott didn't acknowledge him but Stiles still kept the flashlight trained on the trees until he could no longer see or hear his friend. “Great!” he grumbled turning to face Derek.

Derek glared at him, arms folded, one eyebrow raised.

“Don't look at me like that,” Stiles groused. “You know I'm right. Well, you don't own a TV, or know how to use the internet, or appear to engage with popular culture at all so maybe you don't, but I am right Derek. _I am_. Trust me when I say this can only end badly for us.”

Derek rolled his eyes, “I know how to use the internet Stiles.”

“That's what you're taking from that? Your internet expertise. Seriously? Not the whole Cabin in the Woods, Wrong Turnesque stupidity of separating out. No. If we're eaten by chainsaw wielding hill billy zombies I will put the blame firmly at your door Derek. Firmly.”

“ _We're_ not separating and Scott's the alpha,” Derek replied, “he can handle himself.”

“Oh God. Next thing you'll say 'It'll be fine.' You're cursing us Derek. Now something bad _has_ to happen.”

“It _will_ be fine,” Derek ground out, “so let's stop imagining our imminent sacrifice to the ancient ones and do the damn job.” He turned and started to walk away.

Stiles blinked. “Wait a minute. Did you? Have you watched Cabin in the Woods?” He shone his flashlight on Derek, “Seriously? You've just blown my mind.”

Derek rolled his eyes, frustrated. “I've not been living under a rock for the last six years Stiles.” 

“No just in burned out houses and abandoned train depots.”

Even as he said it he knew it was an asshole thing to say, and he felt the change in atmosphere between them almost immediately.

Derek glared at him furiously a muscle in his jaw ticking. Stiles though, felt something rise triumphantly within him.

 _This_ was what he wanted.

He  _wanted_ someone to be angry with him.

He  _needed_ it.

Come on Derek.

Fight.

Fight back damn it.

“Oh don't let me forget your amazing apartment with the massive hole in the wall. That was awesome, seriously, have you considered applying to Better Homes and Gardens? They might want to do a feature article on you. We can call it, ' _Where_ _wolves_ live when no-one gives a shit!'” His voice sounded with a vicious, bitter pleasure.

Derek's eyes flashed blue and his hands balled into fists. His lip curled in fury. “God, you're such a little...” he trailed off angrily, breathing hard, fighting for control.

Stiles stepped toward him, getting right into Derek's space his eyes glittered. All at once he felt more alive than he had in weeks. “Such a what Derek? What am I?”

Derek met his gaze with a furious intensity of his own, but then seemed to check himself. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, exhaling deeply, he turned away. As Derek relaxed his hands, Stiles saw blood trickle from claw marks in his palms, the wounds fading away to nothing as he watched.

“Nothing,” Derek said tersely. “It doesn't matter. Let’s get on with it.”

 Stiles felt bile rise in his throat and an ache of frustration in his chest, this wasn't the way this was supposed to be. There was no perverse satisfaction in watching Derek walk away like a mature, responsible adult. He should be fighting back, meeting him down at his level. Or at the very least calling Stiles on being a dick. Stiles swallowed the bitterness down and followed Derek, tears of anger and frustration pricking at his eyes.

 

o0o

 

Derek led the way through the woods in silence, pausing intermittently to scent the air and adjust their direction. Stiles followed on behind maintaining a resentful silence, clutching his flashlight. He couldn't bring himself to talk to Derek willingly. He knew he'd been an asshole but somehow Derek refusing to rise to it like he normally did had made everything so much worse.

Was he broken?

Did his friends, his Dad, his- Derek, think he was that fragile, that weak?

Was he?

Somehow he felt like in the wake of the Nogitsune he didn't really know himself any more. Maybe, he thought, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach, maybe his friends and family felt like they didn't really know him either.

“We're not sure but we think it's an Adhene.” Derek offered up eventually, pulling him out of his pit of angst.

Stiles looked across at him and nearly tripped over a root in the process. “A what now?”

“An Adhene.” he looked across at Stiles intently. “It's a type of fairy.”

“Right. A fairy,” Stiles massaged his forehead with his free hand. “Of course. Fairies exist. Why wouldn't they?”

They walked on a bit together. “We're not sure though... apparently most of the Adhene are not malicious,” Derek volunteered after a while. “But sometimes you get one that...” 

“Is?” Stiles finished for him. “What is it with Beacon Hills? How is this my life?” he muttered.

Because of course, of course if there were to be a fairy in Beacon Hills it would be a malicious one. Malicious fairies aside, it felt strange and unnatural to have Derek volunteering this information. Stiles was usually the one with the facts, and anything Derek knew he played close to his chest.

Was this some new previously unknown side to Derek? Had he missed some spectacular personal growth on Derek's part while he was busy being possessed? He didn't know and he didn't know if he cared _about_ knowing.

Besides, if things were the way they _should_ be it would have been he and Scott here in the first place. He would know all about the Adhene, or whatever it was, already. He'd have researched fairies in the bestiary and on the internet and come up with a plan.

He _wasn't_ himself though, may never be again, which meant at the moment he was relying on Derek's ability to plan.

God.

They were actually fucking doomed.

“So, what do we do big guy? What's the plan?” he looked across at Derek wearily. Derek must have picked up on something in his voice because he stopped and looked at him inscrutably for a long moment.

“Stiles, are you okay?” Derek hesitated, seeming unsure of what to say when their relationship didn't really extend to concerned chats about the others well being. “You don't seem...”

Stiles felt his stomach sink, he didn't want to do this now and especially not with Derek.

“What?” His voice sounded brittle to his own ears.

“ _What?_ ” he repeated again forcing his voice out with more strength then he felt.

Derek sighed and seemed to think better of it. “Never mind. Just. We'll track it together. The Adhene normally live in caves. We can use the mountain ash to contain it, and then we'll convince it to move on.”

“Convince it?” Stiles snorted. “Right. Sounds like a plan. Well twenty percent of a plan but that's better than normal I suppose.”

“You have a better one?” Derek asked one eyebrow raised again.

Stiles just shook his head and they continued walking on together in silence. He drew his coat around himself, shivering. There was a sick gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach that he just couldn't seem to remember living without. He could sense Derek glancing back at him occasionally with... well, if it had been anyone else he would have called it concern. _Derek_ of all people. He ignored it.

“It wasn't your fault.” Derek said abruptly. Stiles stopped dead his jaw worked soundlessly as Derek turned to face him. “The Nogitsune,” Derek continued bluntly, “Nobody blames you. It...”

“Oh no, just stop right there.” Stiles felt rage rising in him at Derek's weird attempt to comfort him. Everyone was always so _fucking_ anxious to reassure him that nothing was his fault. He shook a little struggling to articulate his frustration. “I don't need. Fuck. Seriously? From _you_? Just... I'm dealing with it man. And even if I wasn't. You wouldn't exactly be my first choice of therapist. So back off.”

“Fine,” Derek said his face closing off. “Whatever.”

“Fine.” Stiles watched as Derek turned and headed off through the woods. Drawing a shaky breath he followed him.

They walked on and on in silence, it felt like an hour later before Derek finally stopped. He paused looking around. “The scent is stronger here. We should check out those rocks.” he gestured and Stiles directed his flashlight at a rocky outcrop that loomed out of the trees on their right.

“Should I turn the flashlight off?” Stiles asked. “I mean I can do that but I don't have supernatural wolf vision so I will totally be dependent on you.”

“Leave it on,” Derek said brusquely, “I don't think the thing is here now. But it's been here recently and regularly. This might be its lair.” They followed the line of the rocks around and came across a narrow opening.

“Here?” Stiles asked. Derek nodded and turned barely squeezing through the gap sideways. Stiles followed suit, cursing under his breath as the rough stone scraped against his skin. However the sensation didn't last long. The narrow gap actually opened up into a space tall enough for he and Derek to stand up in comfortably and big enough to fit maybe five or six people. He hummed thoughtfully, shining the flashlight around. It was dry and there was a sleeping bag on the floor and various bits and pieces scattered about. Stiles wandered over and crouched down to take a closer look, hoping to find some clue as to what they were dealing with. Sifting through he found an odd assortment of things, a watch, a broken mobile phone, a torn dirty looking leaflet that seemed to be some kind of guide to the preserve and an odd collection of clothes none of which seemed to belong to the same person. “If this is a fairy it's hoarding things. Maybe taking trophies off of its victims before it leaves them.” Stiles mused aloud. "Does that sound likely?"

“Maybe. What do you think that's for?” Derek pointed at the other side of the cave and Stiles shone his flashlight in that direction. A small urn rested in a little nook. Above it complex runes were carved into the cave wall. They glanced at each other and then edged closer to get a look.

“I don't recognize these runes, I mean they're similar to the ones above the fox carcass but I haven't seen them before that.” Stiles admitted. He leaned forward to take a closer look. The symbols were elegantly carved and the urn was beautiful, and maybe he was imagining it but the air around it seemed to thrum. He reached out to pick it up.

“I don't know if you should touch...” Derek began as Stiles fingertips grazed the polished surface.

“It's warm” Stiles said wonderingly.

“Seriously Stiles. I don't think you should touch it.” Derek repeated.

Stiles tutted in frustration. He drew his hand back but stepped closer still crouching down to look at it. The urn was highly polished, black and smooth. It shone like marble in the light from his flashlight and it seemed to irresistibly draw him in. He couldn't take his eyes from it.

Ignoring a low warning growl from Derek he reached forward and touched the urn again, picking it up.

It was the oddest thing, a sensory oxymoron, it looked like it should be cold to the touch but instead it was warm, no, warming under his hands. It was almost hot now. He couldn't take his eyes off it, it was so beautiful, the surface gleaming, lustrous. It captivated him, called to something deep within him.  
  
He didn't want to let go. 

“Stiles!” Derek sounded panicked but distant, like he was in a different room. “Something isn't right. You need to put it down now. Stiles!”

Derek was panicking but he didn't understand, this was something special. This was- Stiles tried to turn his head to Derek, to reassure him, but he couldn't take his eyes of the urn, couldn't even move his head.

Some part of his brain sounded a warning alarm then and he could feel panic rise in his chest. He tried to drop the urn but his fingers refused to obey him, stiff and unyielding, they clung to it.  
  
Fuck.  
  
It was still getting hotter, burning painfully in his hand, despite its cool black exterior.

He tried to speak but his voice died in his throat.

Derek reached out and grabbed his arm in a vice like grip. His hand was freezing and his claws pricking at the tender skin of Stiles' forearm. With a superhuman effort Stiles dragged his eyes away from the urn to look at him. Derek was rigid shaking like he had been electrocuted his eyes glassy and wide. His mouth was open in a silent scream. The urn was still in Stiles hand. He was dimly aware that the runes on the wall above the nook were glowing, brighter and brighter. He tried to let go of the urn but it felt like it had fused to his skin. He tried to think, but the only things he seemed able to focus on were the burning in his hand and the ice cold sensation of Derek's hand juddering as it gripped his forearm tight enough to bruise. Stiles’ flashlight fell to the floor.

The pain seemed to build and build and till he felt like he couldn't take it any more. His voice, hoarse and fearful let out a loud scream.

Immediately the urn shattered, and Derek and he were thrown apart, like some kind of invisible hand had launched them to opposite sides of the cave.

He hit his head against the cave wall, and the world went black.

 

o0o

 

Stiles dreamed.

He hated it.

Hated to dream and yet needed what it gave him.

The landscape of his dreams were dark jagged places where the ghosts of those he had hurt and killed whilst possessed by the Nogitsune came out to taunt him, their pale faces contorted in pain and rage. They fed the guilt which threatened to overwhelm him. He ran as far as he could through the sharp, twisted streets of his dream, trying to find respite, but they followed him.

They always followed.  
  
They always found him, thin wisps of hands reaching out to grab him coiling round his limbs and pulling him back. Forcing him to look at the dark gaping spaces where their eyes should be, their distorted voices whispering accusations in his ears.  
  
He writhed and struggled before curling into a ball and screaming his apologies until his voice was hoarse. His hands clamped over his ears, his eyes scrunched shut and his cheeks wet with tears.

There was a roar and suddenly the ghosts disappeared, shrieking and scattering. He stayed fetal-like not daring to look up. Suddenly there was a hand on his back, it felt warm, solid.

“Stiles! Stiles!” Stiles took several shuddering breaths and looked up. Derek knelt over him, his face pale against the darkness. “Stiles. Something's wrong. Something's happened you have to get up. I don't know where we are.”

“Der'k?” He muttered in confusion. Derek looked different somehow. Stiles couldn't quite explain why. The other people in his dream had been intangible, the confused renderings of his subconscious mind. Derek seemed solid more... more real. He blinked trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Derek's usually stoic face looked panicked and confused.

“Stiles!”

“Stiles!”

“Stiles!” Derek’s mouth moved but it was another voice. Distant. Not Derek.

Then he felt a hand shaking him. He heard his name again. He felt himself rushing back to consciousness and surfacing with a splutter.

His eyes fluttered open to see Scott standing over him, his face twisted in concern. “Stiles! Thank God Dude. I totally couldn't wake either of you up. What happened?”

Stiles blinked slowly and looked around. The beginnings of daylight filtered through the entrance to the cave providing a dim sliver of light. Shards of the urn scattered across the floor and all over the Adhene's belongings.

On the other side of the cave, Derek Hale lay unconscious on the floor.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So there are more nightmares and I would say canon levels of horror in this chapter. Thank you so much for the Kudos, Bookmarks and Reviews it really encourages me to keep going. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

They can't wake Derek.

They try. They try really hard.

Screaming. Shouting. Shaking him. Slapping his face.

Nothing.

He lies there pale and unresponsive on the floor of the cave; his face lit by a sliver of early morning sunlight that slices through the narrow entrance.

In the end Stiles assists Scott in scraping and squeezing Derek's unconscious body through the tight gap. It's actually awkward as hell even though Scott's an Alpha werewolf. Finally Stiles finds himself popping out of the cave entrance like a cork from a bottle, and spilling onto the dirt floor of the forest. He loses his grip on Derek's feet. Derek's legs drop like stones but it doesn't matter because Scott who had been maneuvering Derek's head and shoulders, lowers the rest of him carefully to the ground. Stiles folds to the floor for a minute, his back sliding against the rough stone of the outer cave wall. He allows himself time to catch his breath and the chill morning air bites his lungs.

“Well, that was awkward,” he grumbles. He squints at Derek's unnaturally still form laid out before them the pale morning light hurting his eyes after the darkness of the cave. “He's so much heavier than he looks. Is that a werewolf thing?”

Scott glances at Derek and shrugs then turns to Stiles his face creased in concern, “It's weird that he won't wake up. Just run past me again what happened.”

“I told you,” Stiles head thuds back against the rock in frustration. “I picked up the urn and it was warm. As soon as I touched it. It was like, I don't know, the world just faded out. It just kept getting hotter and I couldn't let go. Then Derek touched me. Boom! He felt like ice. I... I don't think he could let go of me either. He looked like he was in pain, I mean, I was in pain and he looked,” Stiles shrugged helplessly, “he looked like it was hurting too, and then I screamed. I just couldn't keep it in any more. The urn shattered and then I blacked out. Next thing I know you're waking me up.”

Scott frowned. “We'll go to Deaton. Maybe he'll have a few ideas. Maybe grab a chunk of the urn for him to look at?”

Stiles grimaced. He rummaged around in his messenger bag and pulled out a plastic bag. “Yeah, I was gonna suggest that,” Stiles scrambled to his feet and ducked back into the cave. He put the bag over his hand like a glove and finding a particularly large shard on the floor he picked it up gingerly. Grasping the shard he inverted the bag over and tied the top together carefully, to avoid touching the shard again.

He squeezed out of the cave entrance to find that Scott had swung Derek's considerable bulk over his shoulder, Derek's arms dangled down his back like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

They hiked back through the forest and bundled Derek into the back of the jeep. Once he was laid out on the back seat Scott jumped into the passenger seat, next to Stiles.

Stiles glanced again at Derek and the reality of the situation began to hit home. His heart beat a frantic tattoo in his chest as he tried to quell his mounting panic. _Another_ person hurt because of him. Derek had warned him not to touch the urn. He swallowed shakily and looked away.

Deaton.

Deaton will know what to do, how to fix it and soon Derek will be back to skulking in dark corners and scowling at everyone again. The Jeep's tires squealed as they peeled away.

 

o0o

 

Stiles leaned back in a small plastic chair, balancing on the back two legs.

Derek was laid out on a cold metal table. His face wan, eyes closed, breathing but unconscious. Deaton stood over him, giving nothing away.

Scott stood next to Deaton, little worry lines forming on his brow. “Can you wake him?”

Deaton sighed his lips pursed thoughtfully, “No, I cannot.”

“What's wrong with him?”

“That is a good question.” Deaton moved to pick up the plastic bag with the shard from the urn and examine it closely under a light.

“I don't get it,” Stiles mused, “he didn't even touch that thing. He just touched me while I was touching it.”

Deaton looked thoughtful, still inspecting the shard. “I believe the urn was made of black onyx”

Stiles rocked forward, the front legs of the chair thudding into the ground. “You say that like it's significant.”

Deaton gazed at Stiles, a look on his face Stiles couldn't quite parse. “Many naturally occurring things like plants or gemstones have properties, latent powers that in the right hands can be accessed and amplified to achieve certain... _results_.”

Scott frowned, “So the urn was enchanted. Someone had made it magical?”

Deaton gave him a small smile. “Not quite. Let me give you an example, mountain ash, as you know is a barrier to the supernatural. However, it only works if the person who wields it has the ability to _will_ it to be so. If the _will_ is not there and the _spark_ to ignite the latent power inside the plant, then the mountain ash has no effect,” he paused and gave Stiles a calculating look. Stiles shrank slightly under his gaze, his mind racing to process this new information.

It was Scott who responded in the end. “Huh. Are you telling me that back when Jackson was the Kanima and running around Beacon Hills eviscerating people, not just _anybody_ could have created the mountain ash barrier around the club? That it was only possible because Stiles... I don't know, believed it could be.”

“Yes, however even that doesn't explain it enough. You have something within you Stiles.” Deaton moved and picked up a piece of paper twisting it into a taper. He opened a drawer and withdrew a match, a small bottle of clear liquid, and a glass bowl. He struck the match and lit the paper. The paper caught fire and began to smolder slowly. “There is a flame within you, a spark. In and of itself it doesn't have to mean much. The rubbing alcohol in this bottle seems inert, powerless.” He tipped a little of the liquid into the glass bowl. “Yet if I touch the spark to the liquid.” the flame leapt into the air and an acrid smell filled the room, before it died down again quickly. “It is an imperfect analogy but you take my point?”

Scott and Stiles looked at each other and then back to Deaton. “You're saying the spark in me activated some property in the onyx urn when I touched it. Like a catalyst,” Stiles said slowly.

Deaton nodded, “Yes. Onyx is powerful, associated with many different things.”

“But... I wasn't willing anything to happen when I touched it. If anything it drew me to it but I wasn't consciously thinking 'God, Derek's an asshole, I wish I could get him off my back' or whatever. Well,” he mumbled, staring at Derek's still form, “not at that particular moment anyway.” He swallowed thickly around a lump that was forming in his throat, “So, it's my fault then.”

He felt their eyes on him but refused to meet their gaze.

“It's not anyone's fault,” Scott said rushing to reassure him. “Nobody's blaming you. Derek wouldn't either.”

 _Not his fault._ God, those words were irritatingly familiar. How many times did he have to fuck up before people started actually blaming him. He laughed humorlessly, Derek _would_ blame him. Had, in fact, told him to stay away from the urn.

He could feel Deaton's steady gaze upon him but he refused to look up from Derek.

“Stiles,” Deaton said gently. “If you feel you must take the blame then I must share some. I had some idea what you were capable of but hadn't explained the nature of your own power to you.” Stiles' head snapped round toward him. Deaton continued. “I had thought to discuss it with you when you were a little older, maybe suggest some formal training. I had been holding off until things had settled a little.”

“Settled?” Stiles snorted derisively, “In Beacon Hills?” A cold fury descended on him, indignation at the thought that Deaton would withhold such important information.

Deaton gave a sad smile. “Perhaps overly optimistic of me.”

“You think?” Stiles snarled through gritted teeth. He felt himself go rigid with anger, and his fists clenched.

Deaton met his angry gaze with dignity. “I hoped. For all of our sakes. However in all honesty, I didn't realise quite how powerful you are. I am so sorry Stiles.”

The sincere apology disarmed Stiles, it unlocked something in him and he felt the anger rushing out of him as quickly as it had come. “You had no right. No right to keep that from me,” he said in a choked voice. He sank back into the chair, deflated. Without the anger to power him he felt flat and lifeless. He put his head in his hands.

Scott moved over to him and put a hand on his shoulder, “Are you OK? It's a lot to take in.”

Stiles didn't answer for a moment just scrubbed his hands over his face.

“You mentioned formal training,” Stiles said after a long moment meeting Deaton's eyes. “Would that be with you?”

Deaton nodded slowly. “I can certainly teach you. However it would be best, eventually for you to go and spend sometime with a Grove. If you agree to it.”

“A Grove?” Scott asked.

“Witches have Covens, Druids have Groves. Werewolves have packs” 

“So I'm a Druid?” Stiles said skeptically.

Deaton shook his head and gave Stiles an apologetic smile. “No. You have a spark, apparently quite a bright one. That is innate. You could channel that and choose to become a Druid or even a witch if you wanted to, or neither. Either way, given recent events I would definitely recommend some training. A Grove would be an excellent place to start.”

Stiles nodded in understanding, feeling a little numb. “I'll think about it,” he promised. “I... I need to think about it.”

Deaton nodded once. “Ok Stiles. Let me know what you decide.” There was an awkward pause.

Scott moved from his position at Stiles shoulder. “So,” he began, “what happened to Derek?” He moved over to stand by Derek's body.

Deaton sighed. “It's difficult to say, all I can be sure of at the moment is that his consciousness, his qi if you will, is not there any more.”

“How do we get him back from wherever he is?” Scott asked.

“Jumping the gun a bit aren't you Scotty?” Stiles said, relieved for the moment to be distracted from the weight of the morning's revelations. “Surely the first question is, where has he gone?”

“That _is_ the question,” Deaton agreed, “and one for which I don't yet have the answer.”

 

o0o

 

There seemed to be little to do for the moment while Deaton looked into the matter, so Stiles dropped Scott off and then drove over to his own house to get some rest. His Dad was back from a night shift but would be asleep till the afternoon. He crawled up the stairs and lay on his bed, laptop balanced on his stomach, idly clicking through Youtube videos to distract himself, unwilling to think about what had happened in the last twenty-four hours. His head ached with tiredness, but he wasn't quite ready to give into sleep yet either. Still, there were only so many cat videos he could get through before his eyes flickered shut and his breathing evened out.

He was back in his dreamscape again but this time he was in the preserve. The trees grasped at the dark sky like gnarled arthritic hands, twisted and knobbly. He stumbled through the forest, tense and alert straining to hear, heart pounding. He scrabbled blindly, half praying nothing would find him and half wishing it would. Eventually, something whistled past his ear and thunked into the tree nearest him. He started and looked at it. An arrow.

“What the...” he breathed.

He glance back into the forest trying to see where it had come from. At first he couldn't make anything out, but then, then he saw it... her. A pale whisper of limbs, scraggy dark hair matted against her face. Dried blood dark on her clothes.

She moved closer.

He walked backwards and tripped over a root landing painfully. He shuffled away crablike, never taking his eyes off of her.

She moved toward him slowly.

Her eyes were hollow black spaces and yet she seemed to have no trouble seeing him. Moving with ease over the rumpled roots of the trees.

Her head tilted to the side and she smiled slowly revealing jagged broken teeth.

“Stiles,” she whispered.

She raised her bow, nocked an arrow.

“A- Allison?” he gulped and closed his eyes braced for impact, vomit sitting at the back of his throat held back only by a heady mixture of fear and relief. He deserved this. He needed this, but dreaded it all the same.

Stiles closed his eyes tighter. Waiting for the hit.

There was a sound of feet pounding toward them through the forest, the crack of branches been broken as whatever it was raced toward them. Stiles scrunched his eyes shut. Unwilling to see what else his imagination had conjured up to torture him with.

There was the sound of something heavy colliding and then an indignant shriek. Stiles eyes flew open and he saw Derek rolling across the forest floor fully wolfed out. The dream of Allison dissipated from the impact, evaporating into the air.

“Stiles!” Derek scrambled toward him, voice thick around his fangs.

Stiles sprawled back on the ground overwhelmed by a mixture of disappointment and relief. He shut his eyes. “Wow. That's new.”

“Was that Allison?” Derek said sharply.

“Yep,” Stiles cracked an eye at Derek who was looking at him with incredulity.

Derek glared about himself and barked, “Get up. We need to keep moving. There are more of these things out there.”

Stiles moaned a little. “Okay, okay. Give me a minute. God, even _here_ you try and take charge. Unbelievable.”

“There's no time for this. We need to get moving. We need to find Scott.”

Stiles stared at him. “Okay. Sure Derek. Why not. Let's go looking for Scott. That'll be fun.”

Derek gave him a dark look and grabbed Stiles hand yanking him to his feet without ceremony, “Go.”

Stiles scowled at him, but Derek shoved him forward. “Go Stiles.” Stiles stumbled forward muttering imprecations disconsolately under his breath.

“I don't understand where we are,” Derek murmured. “None of this makes any sense.”

“Because _that's_ what we expect _here_ , things to make sense.” Stiles grumbled.

Derek glared at him with mounting anger. “Could you try not to treat everything like a joke?”

Stiles glowered at him but sighed deeply. “Fine, whatever. I just want it on record that even my epic imagination cannot make you less of an annoying, controlling asshole.”

Derek gave him an odd look, “You're not making any sense.”

“I'm an enigma, wrapped in a nightmare, with an extra scoop of sarcasm for those with a discerning palate.”

Derek glared at him and Stiles grimaced. “Whatever dude. Let’s just let this play out so I can get on with my actual life. Such as it is. You wanna find Scott. Fine. Let's do it.”

Derek scented the air, huffed in frustration then seemed to make a decision and struck out through the dark twisted trees, his brow creased in concentration. Stiles hurried after him. As dreams went this wasn't actually the worst one he had had recently. At least Derek didn't want to kill him and that made a change, everything else in his subconscious seemed to.

They walked a while and then Derek huffed in vexation. “It's no good. I can't...” He stopped.

“What?"

Derek looked frustrated and said nothing.

“What? If you tell me _maybe_ I can help.”

Derek rolled his eyes and looked away hesitating for a long moment before grinding out reluctantly. “I can't smell anything. I don't understand why, but I'm... I'm not sure I can find a way out of the preserve.” He looked around them dubiously, “Assuming that's where we are.”

Stiles laughed hollowly, “Oh that's where we are buddy. You mean you don't recognize it? I thought I'd done a pretty good job all things considered.” He looked round at the twisted nightmarish trees. “I think it represents what the preserve _is_ rather than an exactly what it looks like.”

“What are you talking abou-” Derek cut himself off angrily and clenched his fists; he turned and stalked off through the trees. “I don't know why I bother.”

Stiles followed doggedly after him. “I wasn't aware you did.”

Derek growled low and whirled on Stiles, jabbing him in the chest. “You shouldn't have touched that urn. I _told_ you not to but you always think you know best. You _never_ listen.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I think it's been established a while ago that touching the urn was not my best decision, and I feel bad about it. Genuinely. But Deaton's working out how to repair the damage and...”

Derek looked up at him sharply and interrupted. “You spoke to Deaton? When?”

“Earlier,” Stiles huffed impatiently. “Look, not that this isn't fun or... if not fun, then at least, slightly less terrifying than my usual dreams, but do you think we could I don't know... move things along a bit.”

Derek looked at him and said slowly. “What do you mean, 'your usual dreams'”

“Never mind.” He blew out a sigh.

“Stiles!” Derek growled low and grabbed his arm. “What are you not telling me?”

“It's a dream. Just a dream! None,” he made a sweeping gesture to the preserve, “of this is real. You are just a figment of my tortured imagination. So can we just get on with this so that I can wake up?”

Derek dropped his arm like a hot coal, “You're wrong.”

“Uh. No, No I'm not. Trust me. I'd recognize the Beacon Hills of my nightmares anywhere. Of course just when I thought things couldn't get any weirder. I need a confused Derek Hale to pop up so that I'm forced to _explain my own nightmares_ to him while I experience them. It's all very weird. Very meta.”

Derek looked at him with mounting frustration. “Stiles if this is a nightmare, then why am _I_ in it? That doesn't make any sense. It can't have happened.”

Stiles clicked his tongue,“I don't know why you're in it. Trust me, I don't choose who or what I dream about. If I could, I can promise you wouldn't be here.”

Derek snarled. Stiles put his hands up in surrender. “Fine Hale. Let's kill some time then. Why don't you tell me what _you_ think happened.”

Derek glared sullenly, but bit out, “You touched the urn. Like an _idiot_.” Stiles snorted, and Derek continued, “You couldn't seem to let of the urn. I grabbed you and it was like you were burning up. I couldn't let you go. Then there was some kind of explosion. I woke up in this weird nightmare version of Beacon Hills.”

Stiles stared at him disbelievingly. A slow trickle of dread pooled in his stomach which accompanied a dawning realization. “Shit!” he breathed.

“You were here at first." Derek added, “You were being attacked, but then you disappeared and I looked everywhere but couldn’t find anyone. Then suddenly I was in the preserve and Allison was shooting at you.”

“Oh No. No. No no no no no no!” Stiles said panic rising in his throat.

Derek looked at him in confusion.

“This cannot be happening. Not again. I just got rid of one uninvited guest,” he gestured wildly at his head. “Casa Stilinski is not open for visitors. So you,” he jabbed Derek in the chest, “are just going to have to get out.”

Derek flinched, looking at him in honest confusion. “What are you talking about Stiles? Get out of where?”

“Get out. Get OUT. GET OUT!" Stiles shouted sagging to his knees clutching his head. His heart pounded erratically. He couldn't do this. Couldn't have this happen again, the Nogitsune had consumed him, taken so much from him and now to have Derek here in his head...

He felt his chest constrict. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe.

There was only a brief hesitation before he felt Derek kneel next to him his hand warm and solid on Stiles back. He vaguely remembered the sensation from when Derek had rescued him from his attackers in his previous dream. Perhaps that should have been a clue, Stiles thought vaguely as he struggled for breath.

“Breathe Stiles. Breathe. You have to breathe,” Derek chanted in his ear. His heavy hand massaged a small circle on Stiles back. “Focus on me. Focus on my voice. Breathe in... and out. In... and out.”

Stiles held his head in his hands pulling at his hair and tried to focus on breathing, on the familiar rhythm of it. His heart rate began to settle. Derek's hand rubbed soothing circles on his back centering him. He focused on it. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he held back. He refused to look up, refused to let Derek see him any weaker than this.

Derek waited a long moment before speaking again when he did his voice was softer, “Are you saying we're in your dreams? You need to tell me Stiles. I don't know what's happening here.”

Stiles swallowed. “I activated the urn. My spark or whatever. It activated some kind of latent power in the urn and it knocked us both out. Scott found us, but we couldn't wake you. We-” He swallowed. “We took you to Deaton, but he couldn't wake you either. He said you weren't in your body any more. I think, I think I somehow absorbed you into my own mind.”

Derek sat back on his haunches, his face slack with disbelief. Stiles tried to speak.

“I – I'm sorry” He started to say, the words died in his throat.

Derek looked away saying nothing.

There was nothing to say.

 

o0o

 

He woke abruptly to his Dad standing over him. There was a look of tense concern was on his father’s face that he had grown all too used to seeing. Apparently nearly having a panic attack in a dream was kind of loud. He made his excuses, got up and hopped straight back in the car. He texted Scott and asking him to meet him at Deaton’s.

Twenty minutes later they were all standing round Derek's unconscious body. Scott and Deaton looking at him expectantly.

“I think I know where Derek is.” he began awkwardly and paused, reluctant to continue.

“Where dude?” 

Stiles gulped nervously and tapped his forehead with his finger. “In here.”

Scott looked confused. “Like he's possessing you?”

Deaton watched him intently. “What makes you say that Stiles?”

“I don't think it's possession exactly. I had a dream. Well, a nightmare really. I... I still get them, you know, sometimes. I had one last night but Derek was in it. He was in the nightmare but he wasn't part of the nightmare. He was his own person. He was confused. I... I'm not explaining it well but I know. I _know_ it was him. The real him. Not just some dream that my subconscious invented.”

Deaton pursed his lips and looked thoughtful. “Is that even possible?” Scott asked.

“I've never heard of this before, that doesn't mean it isn't possible,” Deaton replied.

“IF he's in Stiles's mind, can we separate them? Put Derek back in his own body?” Scott asked.

Deaton looked at Scott. “I don't know. I have contacts, I can make enquiries.” He turned to Stiles. “Can you sense him now? Communicate with him? Maybe allow us to speak with him?”

Stiles shook his head. “I don't think so. I only seem to see him when I dream.”

Deaton giving him a piercing look. “Stiles, I believe it could be possible, with appropriate meditative techniques. You might be able to allow him to surface while you are awake. To let us talk to him or at least let you communicate with him.”

Stiles felt panic rise within him. There was no way he could do that. Not after the Nogitsune. He couldn't do it, wouldn't allow it. He had to be completely in control of his own mind. “Woah. Slow your roll. We're not here to work out how to share my head okay? I am all about getting him out of here and back where he belongs.” He jabbed a finger at Derek's unconscious body.

Deaton looked troubled but he seemed to think he understood. “I know that it's a lot to ask Stiles and we will try and find an alternative, but you may need to consider it.”

“NO!” He grit out through a clenched jaw. “No. You don't understand.” he fought to control himself. “I can't do this again. I _can't._ There has to be another way.”

Scott stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you ok?”

Stiles ran a hand through his hair shakily and shook his head. “I've been better.”

He saw Deaton looking at him his face taut with concern, but he seemed to think better of pushing Stiles on the subject again.

 

o0o

 

“Fuck.” Stiles sat in his jeep head thudding against the steering wheel. He and Scott were sitting in the car still parked outside the vet clinic.

Scott watched him concern etched upon his face. “You want to talk about it?”

Stiles closed his eyes and pressed his head harder against the wheel feeling it dig into the skin of his forehead.

“I didn't realize you were still getting nightmares.” Scott hesitated. “I thought that had all cleared up after we got rid of- y'know.” Stiles cracked his eyes open to see Scott make a vague gesture, clearly meant to encompass the utter clusterfuck that was being possessed by an ancient Japanese fox demon and being used to kill and maim lots of innocent people.

“I don't know. Maybe it's the _darkness attached to my soul,_ I mean, I got rid of the Nogitsune but the other thing is permanent right?” Stiles grimaced. “Do you still get nightmares?”

“Sometimes. I mean, I feel it you know. We've- we've been through a lot and it's not surprising. I guess our brains have to deal with this shitshow somehow. Still though, I feel like I'm getting a handle on it.” Scott rested a tentative hand on his back. “You know I've got your back right?”

Stiles felt a rush of warmth for his friend. “Yeah. I just, I really needed for this _not_ to happen y'know? I'm still dealing with-” he imitated Scott's earlier gesture, “I've shared my head enough for one lifetime. I especially don't need to have _Derek fucking Hale_ taking up room there. We can barely stand each other.”

Scott looked pensive and finally chose to say. “Really? He's not a bad guy you know.”

“To _you_ maybe. He _likes_ you. You're brothers in wolfliness. I'm just the irritating, mouthy friend that he has to put up with to hang out with you.” Stiles winced at how bitter he sounded.

Scott looked at him curiously, “Do you want him to like you?”

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably and gave a hollow laugh. There was a question he didn't want to answer. “I don't _want_ anything from him. Just my own mind back. Single occupancy. Then maybe I can try and finally sort my head out. Just get a grip on everything that's happened. Y'know? Like process it all and just fucking breathe for five minutes without something trying to kill us. Grieve, maybe, for the people we've lost. Breathe and grieve dude. Derek Hale. Not even on my radar.”

It was true.

True enough.

Part of the truth.

Except that last bit.

Derek was always on his radar, had been ever since the first day they had seen him in the woods. Derek was like a splinter buried under his skin, sore, itching and infected. A constant irritation and no matter how much he scratched and picked at it he was never going to have the satisfaction of just pulling the fucking thing out and moving on.

Scott didn't seem to have picked up on the lie though, he looked stricken and hesitated for a long moment before saying. “I – I don't expect you to keep going. You're not a wolf, you could,” he paused, “You could walk away any time. I wouldn't judge you. I love you man. I want what's best for you.”

Stiles tried to swallow against the lump forming in his throat, again he found himself fighting the tears that pricked at his eyes. “I know Scotty, but I'm here. I'm staying. You can't get rid of me that easily. I'll be – okay. Besides,” he grimaced, “from what Deaton says, I may not be able to walk away. Spark. Remember?” He looked over at Scott to see him looking tense and emotional. “Hug it out?”

Scott gave a watery smile and leaned across the passenger seat to give him a huge but awkward hug. He patted Scott on the back and they stayed like that a while. Stiles felt some of the tension he was carrying dissipate, but knew he had to get home to see his Dad. “We gotta stop this dude. the gear stick is trying to introduce itself to my kidneys.” He joked, a weak attempt to lighten the mood.

Scott snorted and sat back in his seat again. “Next time you have a dream try speaking to Derek. He might be more help than you'd think.”

Stiles didn't comment, just turned the key in the ignition and started to pull away.

 

o0o

   
  
Thank-you for reading. Next chapter will be posted this weekend.  :-)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles dreams. Derek gets hurt. Stiles gets angry. Lydia shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has more nightmares in this. One of which involves his mother. There is also some canon level horror and a bucket load of angst. I want to be able to write fluff. I love to read fluff but alas I can only write angst. Or, at best flangst (portmanteau of Fluff and Angst if you're wondering.) If you feel I need to tag for anything that I haven't then please let me know. Constructive criticism is always welcome. As are Kudos and bookmarks and comments telling me how evil I am for putting Stiles and Derek through so much stuff.

 

 

He managed to get through the rest of Sunday, but decided not to tell his Dad anything. Not yet. Telling his Dad meant admitting to nightmares. Admitting to not coping. Admitting to the guilt and regret that crippled him. He wasn't ready, besides, with any luck Derek might not be trapped in his mind for very long; so no harm no foul. Right?

Sprawled in bed that night, he tried to settle his mind as it buzzed. There was a time. A dim distant memory where sleep was definitely a good thing. A desirable thing. Now it was... complicated.

Nobody blamed him, as far they were concerned the Nogitsune, was not his fault. They were all so anxious to reassure him of that. At least in his own head, in his dreams, he was allowed to feel guilt, his subconscious was allowed to express it without someone rushing to defend him from himself, to deny him that comfort with sad eyes and inadequate words. The thing was if he wasn't guilty then he was powerless. Powerless to stop himself being used and manipulated to hurt other people and that was worse. So much worse, terrifying even.

In the end he picked up a book and tried to read about the Fae, trying to find something about this creature that _might_ be an Adhene. He may not have control over much, but this, this he could do. Read. Research. Try and prepare.

Sleep stole over him slowly that night. Creeping up upon him silently before he realized it was there.

 

o0o

 

He dreamed again.

This time he was on the football field. He clung to Lydia's body as she bled. So much blood, warm and sticky all over his hands. His panicked heart felt as if it would pound out of his chest, he was helpless, unable to stem the bleeding from her wounds as Peter stood over them feral and triumphant. His hands slipped in her slick blood as he tried frantically to hold her and keep her alive. He could do nothing. _Nothing._ Around him the dream began to fade.

He found himself lying on the floor in the garage. Paralyzed. Unable to move as the Kanima severed the hydraulic line and used his Jeep to crush his mechanic. He was impotent, forced to observe but unable to stop anything. He didn't turn away, didn't close his eyes, made himself watch as the mechanic twitched and gasped under the weight of his car. Suddenly, he heard a howl in the distance, it sounded like a werewolf. Almost as soon as he heard it the dream started to shift, it's landscape twisted all around him. It resolved itself into the Argent basement. Erica and Boyd hung from the ceiling quivering and scared. He couldn't save them. He couldn't do anything. He crouched on the floor his heart thundering in his chest. He knew what would happen next. A shadow fell over him and he turned to see Gerard Argent looming above him. Stiles faced him with a small smile on his lips as Gerard raised his fist and the first blow landed.

He curled fetal on the floor as blow after blow rained down on him. Then, suddenly, there it was again, a werewolf howling. It sounded much closer this time. Someone's feet pounded down the stairs to the basement. Gerard turned in confusion to see who it was, the door exploded and wood splintered everywhere. Derek stood their fully wolfed out, his eyes flashing blue and his face furious.

Almost immediately the basement faded away. Gerard, Derek, Erica and Boyd all disappeared and he found himself wandering one of the endless Escher like corridors of Eichen house. However far he walked, wherever he turned he seemed to find himself back in the same place. There was no way out. There were doors lining the corridors and finally in desperation he tried one. It wouldn't open.

He tried another and another.

There was no way out.

Finally he saw someone in the distance at the far end of the corridor. Malia, he was sure it was Malia. He tried to run towards her but it felt like his legs were weighted, every stride like wading through molasses. He tried to call to her but his voice seemed to die in his throat. He sank to the floor, every limb feeling heavy and his face streaked with hot, wet tears he didn't even know he had shed. Everything was hopeless. He was hopeless.

At that moment one of the locked doors to his right burst open, splintering everywhere and he put his hands to his face to shield himself from the flying debris. Derek hadn't howled to announce himself this time, instead he forced his way into the dimly lit corridor with extreme prejudice. He spotted Stiles and ran over to him.

“Stiles!” Derek looked pissed.

The dream began to fade all around him. The empty hallways of Eichen House dispersed. “Stiles! Don't leave.” Derek called, sounding furious. Stiles felt Derek grasp his arm, warm, solid, real, he wasn't letting go. In the end _he_ pulled away from Derek.

When the dream resolved itself again he found himself sitting at his kitchen table shelling peas. His mother next to him in her favorite floral print dress. Her hair tied back in a messy ponytail. The radio hummed quietly in the background. They sat in companionable silence as they snapped pods and let peas tumble carelessly into a bowl.

There was the scrape of a window opening upstairs and the sound of somebody scrambling through it. Feet thudded down the stairs and then the door burst open.

Derek stood framed in the doorway glaring at him, incensed. “Stiles. Stop running away.”

Stiles refused to look up. Instead he concentrated on picking out his next pod and snapping the top.

Derek moved into the room. “I mean it Stiles. We need to talk and you need to stop running away.”

“It's a dream, dumbass. I'm not doing it on purpose. I can't control what happens in my _dreams._ ” Stiles snarked back.

Derek sighed and pulled up a chair next to him. He steepled his fingers and scowled at Stiles before finally saying. “Did you speak to Deaton?”

“Yup.” He ran his fingers through a pod, dislodging the fat green peas.

“And?”

“We're working on it.”

Derek snorted. “Clearly, you're all over it.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes “I'm sleeping. I'm allowed to sleep. You think I want _you_ in my head?” He said sharply.

Derek glared at him. “I didn't choose to be here.” He countered. “In fact I wouldn't be here if you hadn't _touched the urn_.”

Stiles tried to meet his gaze but felt a burning lump rise in his throat and had to look away. He didn't trust himself to respond but he could feel Derek's eyes boring into him and eventually he chanced a glance up. Derek was giving him a look he couldn't quite parse. Frustrated maybe or searching him for something. If he didn't know better he'd almost call it concern. An angry concern, but then anger seemed to be the baseline from which all Derek's other emotions sprang.

There eyes locked and they stared at each other for a long, charged moment. Stiles felt his stomach flip a little and his heart fluttered in his chest. He swallowed reflexively feeling suddenly confused, and he flushed pink.   
  
Derek cleared his throat and looked down at his hands. “This isn't right.” he said breaking Stiles out of his reverie.

“Wha- what isn't?” Stiles said flushing darker still. He ducked his head and pretend to be absorbed counting the peas in the bowl. Suddenly he felt nervous.

“This. You. What's happening to you in you're dreams” Derek continued.

Stiles head snapped up. “What do you mean?” he asked dangerously.

“You know what I mean.” Derek challenged him

“Sitting with my Mom?” Stiles baited, intentionally misunderstanding him.

Derek looked at him scornfully before resting his hands on the table and considered them for a moment. He seemed to center himself and then looked up to meet Stiles gaze. That look of angry concern was back. “I think I know what you're doing to yourself here. It's not right. You need to get help.”

There was no sound for a moment but Stiles could feel his heart pounding in his chest and then his mother’s chair scraped on the floor as she got up and moved to potter around the kitchen. “You want a drink honey? Would your friend like something?” she asked musically.

“I don't know what you’re talking about.” Stiles said woodenly to Derek.

Derek refused to break his gaze. “Yes you do. These nightmares are all a symptom of what you’re refusing to deal with.”

His mother moved around and placed a glass of lemonade in front of him.

“You need to talk to someone.” Derek continued.

Something snapped inside Stiles, just broke and like water from a dam the words and poured out of him. “Is that what you did? Did you? Sat down with someone and had a little chat to get rid of the guilt you have about fucking a woman, and giving her the information which allowed her to kill your entire family? Made it easier when you decided to start dating my psychotic _fucking_ English teacher did it?” he hissed viciously. Derek paled and his jaw set but he looked resolute.

“Language sweetheart.” his mother singsonged, moving around to stand behind where Derek sat.

Derek and Stiles stared at each other again. This time they were both furious. “I’m trying to help.” Derek finally ground out. “ _I_ might be the only person who can really underst-”

It happened so fast Stiles barely had a chance to register it. His mother reached forward with a kitchen knife and slashed quickly and cleanly across Derek's throat. Blood bubbled out and the rest of Derek's sentence burbled wetly in his throat, his green eyes wide with surprise.

Stiles pushed his chair back and leapt out of it. “Fuck! Mom! What did you do? What did you do?” he rushed over to Derek who was leaning back in his chair his shoulders sagged like a balloon slowly deflating. Derek's fingers clenched and unclenched reflexively and his head lolled to one side. Stiles cradled Derek's head in his hands trying to support him.

“He was annoying you sweetheart. He was making you soooo cross. We can't have anyone making my darling boy cross like that.” his mother reached out to stroke his hair.

Stiles looked up and gaped at her, he gasped, recoiling in horror. Her face was featureless. Like a mannequin in a shop window. He felt bile rise in his throat as Derek bled all over his hands.

“My sweet boy. Shall Mommy give you a cuddle?” her head tilted to the side and her hand reached toward him. “I can make it all better.”

Stiles close his eyes grabbed hold of Derek and willed himself to be somewhere else. Anywhere. _Anywhere_ but here. _Come with me Derek. Anywhere but here._

The dream shifted again.

Then vet clinic materialized around them. In front of him three metal baths filled with ice and water. He sank to the floor under Derek’s weight screaming for Deaton.

Nobody came.

Blood, warm and sticky covered his hands. Derek wasn't healing. “Come on Derek.” He mumbled. “Come on sourwolf. I didn’t mean it.” He pawed at the wound in Derek’s neck trying to press it together to _make_ it heal. Derek gargled wetly, blood bubbling from his mouth and his eyes fixed on Stiles face, and the pure fear in them left no room for anger. Derek reached a trembling hand out to grasp Stiles face.

“Sss' ok-aayy.” Derek managed to hiss out, blood still spilling out of his neck and trickling out of his mouth. “S'not... I... don't... blame” he choked a little and blood oozed out of the wound that just _would_ not seem to heal. His eyes rolled back in his head.

Stiles felt a hysterical noise force it's way out of his own mouth, half laugh, half sob. He felt tears falling down his cheek and swiped his them away with his hand and then as more blood started to trickle out of Derek's neck he quickly reapplied pressure to the wound. “Please Derek. Heal. Please heal. Please. Don’t leave me. Just heal. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Just heal and we’ll find a way to get you out of here. You may have shitty taste in women, but you don’t deserve to die, or to be stuck in my head forever. Please heal. _Heal._ ”  
  
He felt his hand grow warm against Derek’s throat. He stopped babbling and stared. He lifted his hand slightly and gasped to see the wound knitting itself back together.  
  
He woke up abruptly his hands clutched to his face, his cheeks wet with tears.

 

o0o

 

For the third time in 48 hours he found himself standing over Derek’s unconscious body with Scott and Deaton looking at him expectantly. Deaton had hooked Derek up to some kind of drip, he assumed to stop his body from wasting away without food or water.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” Stiles quipped dully, sinking into the nearest chair.

“Stiles?” Deaton prompted. “You have more news?”

Stiles rubbed his hands over his face and took a deep breath before continuing. “My Mom tried to kill Derek. In my dream. She cut his throat.”

Scott looked understandably disturbed. “Dude.”

Stiles shook his head. “I know. Just when I think things can't get any worse another shituation happens that proves me wrong.”

“He's okay though.” Scott stated with brittle optimism. “I mean he's a werewolf so... he healed right?”

“He couldn’t heal. I don’t know why he couldn’t heal but he just kept bleeding everywhere. In my dream we ended up here in the clinic, and I couldn’t make it stop but then I…” He hesitated. “I begged him to start healing and my hand felt warm and then, then he did.” Stiles paused feeling unaccountably embarrassed. “I woke up I don’t know for sure if he’s all right.”

Deaton tapped a finger pensively against his desk.

“Why wouldn’t he be able to heal?” Scott asked.

“I honestly don’t know. It’s like he’s got some wolfy powers. He can shift into beta form. I’ve seen him do it, but he says he can’t smell or sense things like he normally would do.” Stiles said.  
  
“Deaton?” Scott asked. “Any ideas?”

Deaton stilled his finger tapping. “Some theories.” he replied. “Nothing concrete.”

“Well give us your best theory then.” Stiles said, “And try not to make it to cryptic. I don’t think my brain can handle anything too cryptic at the moment.”

Deaton gave him a small smile. “As far as I can tell the essence of who Derek is, his psyche has been wholly absorbed into your subconscious. His physical body remains here.” he gestured at the examination table and paused.

“Dude, that much I understood.” Stiles responded impatiently.

“Let me make it clearer. His enhanced senses, his strength, his healing abilities. They are all part of his physical body. They are not part of his psyche. He can’t use those abilities whilst in your mind.”

“He wolfed out though. I saw him do it. In a dream, I mean.”

“Yes, but what you are seeing in the dream is the image of his physical self that Derek’s psyche is choosing to project. A reflection of how he sees himself. That much he can achieve, he has no... extra powers though.”

Stiles considered this for a moment. “He managed to beat up a few people in my dreams, break down a few doors. I mean surely if he didn’t have his ‘super strength’ he wouldn’t have been able to do that.”

Deaton hesitated and seemed to consider his choice of words carefully. “Let us say it is my best guess. It may not explain everything but it’s as far as I’m willing to go at the moment.” He paused. “It doesn’t explain how you were able to heal Derek’s wounds.”

“Do you have any theories about that?”

“You said your hand warmed up? Like it did at the cave when you touched the urn.”

Stiles paused. “Well, yeah, I mean in the cave I thought it was the urn that was heating as I touched it rather than my _hand_ heating. I… ugh semantics.” he shrugged uncertainly.

“It sounds like your spark was brightened within your dreamscape. I’m not sure how that would work though as I can’t see what you would have been acting as a catalyst for. Explain to me exactly what happened.”

Stiles paused. “Derek and I were arguing. We were in the kitchen at my house. My mom was there. I got really angry with him and before I knew it she had walked up behind him and cut his throat with a kitchen knife.”

“What happened next.” Deaton prompted.

“I looked up and realized that she was my Mom, but… not. She didn’t have any features just a blank face. Derek was bleeding everywhere. I grabbed at him and I don’t know, wished us to be somewhere else. We ended up here at the clinic, I called for help and nobody came.” Stiles paused and closed his eyes before continuing. “I tried to apply pressure to the wound. Hold it together. I could tell it wasn’t healing. I started to panic. I started begging for him to heal.”

“What happened then?” Deaton leaned forward with interest.

“My hand felt warm. His neck started to heal.” Stiles shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what else to say.”

Deaton looked thoughtful. “You say you panicked. How did that panic manifest itself?”

Stiles felt the color rise in his cheeks. “I was shaking I guess and um,” he chanced a glance at Scott. “There um, may have been tears. Don’t judge me. I was freaking out.”

Scott held his hands up. “Hey man no judgement. Your dead faceless dream Mom had just slit the throat of the guy you absorbed into your head. I’ve cried for less.”

A small smile played across Stiles lips. Deaton looked pleased. “Did you touch the tears Stiles?”

Stiles glanced at him. “Uh. I guess. I mean I may have in the dream. When I woke up I’d been crying in my sleep.”

Deaton smiled. A wide honest to God smile. “There is your answer.”

Scott and Stiles both looked at him in confusion.

Deaton looked a little exasperated. “Tears. Quite famously have healing properties. If you cried and then touched the wound, even in your dream it would have been enough to activate the spark.”

“Seriously? I healed him through the power of my tears. How lame is that?” Stiles exploded. “It's like something from a harlequin novel.”

Scott however, looked serious. “Does this mean that Derek could have died? I mean if he can’t heal himself and Stiles hadn’t been able to cry on him or whatever. If he dies in Stiles mind is he dead in real life?”

Deaton looked grave. “I can’t be sure. As I’ve already said this isn’t an area I have a huge amount of expertise in. It is entirely possible though. We would do best to err on the side of caution.”

“Fuck. My mind is the actual Matrix.” Stiles murmured.

Deaton chose to ignore this comment. “In all seriousness Stiles. We have to do something about your nightmares.”

They was a pause while Scott and Stiles both waited for him to continue.

“What can we do? Is there some kind of mystical thing that will magically make the bad dreams stop?” Scott asked.

Deaton shook his head and looked at Stiles intently. “There are certain things we can do to try and help but ultimately the power to stop the nightmares is within you. You have to take control in the dream.”

Stiles jumped to his feet and his hands shook. “It's a _dream_. I can't control my dreams.” he started to pace the room in agitation. “You think I want to be having these nightmares? That I wouldn't stop them if I could.”

Deaton looked at him but said nothing.

“Hey, nobody is saying that.” Scott began. Stiles waved a hand at him dismissively his eyes still focused on Deaton.

“ _Why_? Why would I _want_ that?” he stopped pacing and looked furiously at Deaton his fists clenched and face pale.

Deaton shrugged but said finally. “Only you can answer that.”

Stiles threw his hands up in the air. “Unbelievable. Can you believe this.” he gestured at Scott.

Scott looked uncomfortable and shifted from foot to foot.

“Oh God. You agree with him? You think that the nightmares are my _fault_?” Stiles felt the anger start to drain away.

“No. NO. Not your fault. I don't think anyone's saying that.” Scott looked at Deaton anxiously, and then back at Stiles. “It's just you said yourself, after your Mom attacked Derek you willed yourself away, into the clinic.” Stiles felt himself deflate slightly. Scott continued “So you must have some degree of control. You probably just need to practice more to be able to do it.” He walked slowly toward Stiles his hands outstretched to placate him.

“Nobody's blaming you. For _any_ of it. The nightmares, the fact Derek's trapped in your head, the Nogitsune stuff. Nobody blames you. It's _not your fault_.”

Stiles felt the bile rise in his throat. His face paled. “Yeah?” he said his voice shaking. “Well maybe _I_ need to blame me. Did you think of that?” he turned and walked out of the clinic into the pale early morning light and slammed the door behind him.

 

o0o

 

Stiles switched his phone off and drove around aimlessly. He was unwilling to go home, his Dad would be back from his night shift soon and he didn't feel he could conceal his agitation from him at the moment.

He was furious with Scott for not blaming him for anything.

He was furious with Deaton for being so damn perceptive.

Most of all though, he was furious with himself for being so weak. Weak enough to hurt someone- _again_. Guilt and self loathing weighed heavily on him and he just wanted to wallow in it for a bit.

Scott and his father were the people he cared for most in the world, two truly good men that he loved and respected. They shared so many qualities that he admired, integrity, compassion and loyalty. They seemed incorruptible and for that reason Stiles knew they couldn't help him through this. The darkness attached to his soul following the surrogate sacrifice and his subsequent possession by the Nogitsune had rocked him to his core. Until then he had always thought he knew himself, now he couldn't be sure.

Before his possession he had known he was a good person, but he had also known he wasn't always a _nice_ person.

He had known that there was a hardness to him that Scott didn't seem to have, but growing up Stiles had always thought of himself as the realist to Scott's idealist. He viewed himself as a grounding force for the pair of them. Now, in the wake of everything that had happened he worried that what he had attributed to pragmatism was actually callousness, worming it's way into his core like a maggot, consuming him from the inside until he was rotten. Was that why the Nogitsune was able to possess him in the first place?

On top of everything else he had hurt Derek, absorbed him into his own mind, where his own guilt ridden nightmares might be able to kill him. He didn't know what was worse the guilt he felt for hurting Derek or the panic at having somebody else share his mind. After everything he had been through that felt like such a violation.

He felt bile rise in his throat. His hands shook a little as he gripped the steering wheel and he blinked in surprise. Without realising it he seemed to have arrived at the burned out shell of the old Hale house. It was as if something had drawn him to it without his conscious thought. He slowed to a stop and cut the engine.

The house loomed before him rising out of the trees, it's façade charred and weather beaten. The windows looked like dark empty mouths filled with jagged glass teeth, screaming silently into the night. The front door hung from it's hinges creaking in the breeze. The house resonated with him. It stood there like a monument to guilt, betrayal, death and grief, all familiar phantoms that haunted him now. The thought skittered across his brain that maybe Derek felt the same. Maybe that's why he had never torn it down and rebuilt it.

He breathed in and out slowly trying to corral his thoughts into some kind of order. He may not want to but he should try and talk to someone. It couldn't be Scott, who was to anxious to reassure him or his Dad who he couldn't bear to burden with any more worry and certainly not Deaton who was acutely perceptive but deliberately abstruse.

In the end he switched on his phone, and dialled Lydia.

  
o0o

 

  
Lydia agreed to drive out to him at the Hale house even though it was ridiculously early. Not long ago his mind would have boggled at the idea that he could call Lydia Martin and she would turn up anywhere because he _asked_ her to do it. So much had changed.

He heard the crunch of her tyres on the dirt path as she pulled in next to him. She cut her engine and looked across at him expectantly. He gestured for her to join him in the Jeep but she arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him derisively. He huffed and rolled his eyes but unbuckled his seat belt anywaybefore tumbling gracelessly out his Jeep and scuttling across to her car. He opened the door and settled himself in the passenger seat next to her.

She looked at him archly. “Well?”

He screwed his face up trying to think about what he wanted to say without just letting his mouth take over. “I fucked up.” He settled on.

She gave him a piercing look. “How?”

He let his head thud back against the headrest of the passenger seat. “So many ways.”

She pursed her lips and tapped her fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. “It's 7 o'clock in the morning Stiles. I'm going to need details. Specifics.”

“I've managed to get Derek trapped” he tapped his forehead, “In here.”

He could feel her gaze burning into the side of his head. “Where's his body.”

“Unconscious at Deaton's.” Stiles said.

“Huh. Can you hear him now. Speak to him?”

“Nope.” he said popping the P loudly. “Although Deaton says he thinks he could probably get that to happen. But I don't...” He gnawed his lip anxiously and turned to look at her properly for the first time. “I'm scared.” He confessed. “I only just got rid of y'know” he made a vague gesture. “I really wasn't planning in sharing my mind with anyone for... well for _ever_.”

Lydia nodded thoughtfully. “Understandable. OK. Tell me everything. From the beginning.”

Stiles sighed and started to explain again the events of the past few days. The search for the Adhene, the urn, his spark, the dreams and concluding with his less then stellar conversation with Scott and Deaton. Lydia listened intently to everything, interrupting occasionally for clarification.

“The thing is and I know, _I know_ nobody gets this but _I_ _need_ to feel guilty. Y'know. Not just for this thing with Derek but everything that happened with the Nogitsune. People keep telling me it's not my fault but I know I'm to blame. The worst thing is nobody gets that because nobody else has been through it.” He complained.

She looked at him with incredulity. “Okay. You have to stop talking now.” she said abruptly.

“He looked at her mouth agape. “Wha-”

“I said no talking.” she snapped.

He closed his mouth.

“The reason people are telling you the Nogitsune isn't your fault. Is because it's _not your fault._ ”

“Bu-” he began.

“I'm still talking.” She cut him off firmly. He shut his mouth again.

“If your actually trying to make the argument that nobody else knows what it's like to be possessed by a Japanese Fox Demon then yes. You are correct. The percentage of people globally that that has happened to is tiny. _However_ ,” she continued quickly as he opened his mouth to speak again. “Don't you dare sit here and pretend that you have the monopoly on being manipulated or used against your will to hurt other people.”

He shut his mouth again. Now feeling that he was doing a fairly good impression of a goldfish.

“Stiles, who did Peter use to bring himself back from the dead?” she said more softly.

He hesitated. “You.” he said.

“The man is a sociopath and a killer who will almost certainly turn on us all at some point. When that inevitably happens, will it be my fault? Will you blame me?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. Of course not.”

"Will I blame me?” she asked.

He shrugged uncertainly. “Will you?”

She paused and didn't answer him, wouldn't hold his gaze. He glanced down and saw a slight tremor to her hands. She took a deep steadying breath before continuing. “When Kate Argent seduced a teenaged Derek Hale, committed statutory rape and then used the information he'd told her about his family to murder all of them was it Derek's fault?”

He sighed deeply. “No, and yes, before you ask, I'm pretty sure he does feel guilt about it.”

She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Feeling guilt about what happened with the Nogitsune is entirely natural Stiles, but you have to start accepting that what occurred was beyond your control or it's going to destroy you. Then the Nogitsune has won. He fed on pain and destroyed so many lives you can't let yours be one of them.”

He didn't say anything for a moment.

She sighed and clicked her tongue a little impatiently. “Look if it helps, you're totally right to feel guilty about this Derek thing. He _did_ tell you not to touch the urn. So that's definitely your fault. Well, yours and Deatons, for not warning you about your spark. Congratulations.” she flashed him a bright, fake smile.

He gave a bark of surprised laughter and she smiled at him, genuinely this time. She was honestly the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. He remembered in a rush why he'd obsessed over her for so many years.

“I love you.” he said abruptly, overwhelmed by affection for her.

“I know” she said simply, looking at him intently “but not like you used to.”

“No.” he exhaled and it felt cleansing. Like the admission purified him in some way. “Not like I used to.”

“Good.” she grinned at him. “I like you better like this.”

“Like what?” he said, confused.

“Like a friend.” she grasped his hand briefly and affectionately before letting it go.

 Stiles felt unexpectedly warm, and he smiled slightly. “Eternally friend zoned that's me.” he said faux dramatically.

She looked at him shrewdly. “Only because you insist on going after what you know you can't have.”

He laughed. “Are you implying you're out of my league, because that's probably true.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Oh, that's definitely true, but what _I_ meant was that it's easier for you to go after some imagined, unattainable ideal then acknowledge to yourself what you _really_ want.”

He shifted restlessly in his seat and dropped her gaze feeling uncomfortable and confused, almost guilty. Like she could perceive something deep truth about himself that he hadn't yet admitted. “Do you mean Malia?” he hazarded.

“Yes Stiles.” she responded with unmistakable sarcasm. “I mean the girl who spent nine years living as a coyote, who you hooked up with while in a mental health institution, drugged up on haloperidol and possessed by a demon.”

He blanched and said defensively. “I knew what I was doing when we did that stuff. I like her.”

“Fine. Fine, you _like_ her.” she snorted a little contemptuously. “I'm sure she's a _nice_ girl.”

“She was nice... in a feral sort of a way.” Stiles responded, feeling anger build within him. “Anyway we were there for each other and I care about her.”

Lydia looked at him with obvious frustration. “And you,” She rejoined, “Are not listening to me. Are you being deliberately obtuse?”

“Wha- What do you mean?” he asked, his anger melting back into confusion.

“I _mean_ you 'like' her, she's 'nice'. I hope when you were in love with me, you didn't describe me in such tepid terms. She's your friend Stiles, you care for each other. Like we care for each other and that's great, but lets not pretend that that's enough for a relationship.”

She grasped his hand. “If you're honest you need an equal, someone who challenges you, who makes you better, who makes you _burn_. Someone who doesn't take any of your crap. Who will love you as fiercely and completely as you love them. You need someone who ignites your spark.”

“You could be describing you...” he tried a little half-heartedly.

“No Stiles.” she said gently. “You know I'm not and besides, you don't want me to be anyway. Not any more.”

He tapped his finger absent-mindedly against his knee. “I know. I just don't when I'm going to meet someone who is all of that for me.”

Lydia shook her head and he could swear he heard her mutter. “Oblivious.” Under her breath.

He looked up at her questioningly. “Wha- Bu- are you saying there's someone already who...” he trailed off in confusion.

She raised an eyebrow at him with incredulity.

He gaped at her. “Who? Who is this magical person that I'm apparently unaware of?”

She clicked her tongue with disapproval, shaking her head. “I'm not here to show you your own heart Stiles. Neither am I here to point out the obvious.”

“Obvious to _you_ maybe!” Stiles spluttered.

She sighed deeply. “I'm just going to give you one piece of advice and then I'm going to go, because this is becoming boring.” she paused. “Help get Derek back in his own body.”

His jaw dropped again. “Gee, thanks Lyds. I was thinking of keeping him in my head forever. Thank God you're here to point out the _fucking_ obvious to me.” he bit out.

She looked at him haughtily. “I'm serious Stiles. Pull yourself together. Stop wallowing in guilt and get on with life. Research, read the bestiary, google evil fairy urns it if you have to. Take control of your life, start changing the things you _can_ change. Channel all that guilt you feel into something productive.”

He paused for a moment. Knowing she was right but just needing a moment to collect himself. “And my supposed soul mate? Any clues to who you think that is?”

She snorted. “There's no such thing as soul mates Stiles. There's just friendship, respect, kindness, honesty, loyalty and they're all _choices_ you make every day for the people you _choose_ to love. Just be honest with yourself about who you are and what you want. _Nosce te ipsum, tu ipse esto, ama te ipsum._ ”

He looked at her blankly. “I don't know what that means.”

She gave him a small smile. “ _Know yourself, be yourself, love yourself_ . Trust me, if you do that the rest will follow.”

“Easy for you to say. In Latin and in English apparently.” Stiles groused his heart sinking. “Do you ever get tired of being right?”

She rolled her eyes in mock frustration “Stop moaning Stiles, it's getting boring.”

 

o0o

  
  
  
  
  
So - I the next chapter probably won't be up until next weekend because I am still in the process of finishing it really needs to be betaed and I'm struggling to contact my current beta so I might have to rope my other half into doing it for me when he gets the chance. Thanks for reading. In the next chapter Stiles and Derek start to work out how to get on now there sharing Stiles head. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles starts to make peace, with his situation and with his friends.

He turned up at school that morning feeling a bit of a mess.

Lydia was right. He needed to sort himself out. He didn't have a choice now. He couldn't afford the luxury of guilt or the nightmares that came with it. He also knew in himself that he need to apologise to Scott, and probably Deaton and most disturbingly, Derek too.

Scott approached him uncertainly at home room that morning. Like he was a skittish animal that he didn't want to scare away.

“Hi...” Scott began turning the full glare of his puppy dog gaze on Stiles. “Look, I'm really sorry about-”

“Don't be.” Stiles interrupted quickly. “It wasn't your fault. It's me.” he sighed heavily. “They're my issues, my fears. I need to be the one to get over them.”

Scott gave a small smile that was really more of a grimace. “Yeah, but I want to be there to help you, if I can and I really don't want to make things worse for you.”

Stiles gave him a weak smile in return. “You- you're not. It's just not an easy fix y'know. It's going to take time for me to get my head round everything that's happened. To work out who I am now.”

“Look...” Scott seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “I get it. I think. I went through a similar thing after I got turned, but _you_ helped me see that ultimately I was still me. You were there for me man and I wouldn't be here now if you hadn't been. I want to be here for you now, because I believe that ultimately you are still _you_. The Nogitsune did those things. Not you. You have to know that.”

Stiles gave him a wan smile, after everything that had happened, he didn't know whether it was a relief or just added pressure that Scott still had so much faith in him. He knew what he needed to do though. “I'm sorry.” he said, releasing a shaky breath. “For shouting yesterday and storming out. I'm sorry.”

Scott grinned, small but genuine this time. “S'ok dude. We've got each others back. Where did you go in the end?”

“I ended up at the old Hale house. I don't know why. It just felt right for some reason. I called Lydia and she drove over and kicked my ass, talked some sense into me. Like only Lydia can.” Stiles said ruefully and Scott chuckled.

“So what now?” Scott asked.

“Go back to Deaton I guess. See if he can help me get rid of the nightmares. Maybe communicate with Derek a little. Work on getting him back in his own head. I don't know really. I just know I've got get my head out of my ass and start doing something.”

Scott looked a little apprehensive. “Well." He said slowly. “I don't know if this is the right time to tell you but Deaton did give me a couple of things for you. Stuff to maybe help you with your nightmares. If you want. There's no pressure. I mean...” Scott trailed off looking unsure and Stiles felt guilty again.

“No. I want to. I _want_ to stop having nightmares. At least,” He paused and took a deep breath. “I don't want to add killing Derek Hale to the list of terrible things I've done, so I have to try and stop having nightmares.” Stiles amended, incurably honest.

Scott looked concerned. “Do you _want_ to have them?” He asked. “The nightmares I mean.”

“Uh... In some ways.” He swallowed, unable to look Scott in the eye. His hands clenched the cuffs of his plaid shirt. “It's twisted I know, but I think they allow me to feel bad. Everybody has been so careful not to blame me and stuff, but I do feel guilty. I think I need to. I don't want to be over this quickly and onto the next thing. I need to feel it. To learn from it if I can. This wasn't just like I borrowed a car and dinged it y'know? Bad stuff happened. People _d_ _ied_ and I know you'll say that it was the Nogitsune, not me, but the truth is, I was weak. I let him in. I opened that door in my mind and that weakness has cost everyone so much. I need to be able to feel bad about it and I... uh... I guess it didn't always feel like I was being _allowed_ to. So in some ways I felt that I deserved the nightmares. I deserved to feel bad and in that respect I wanted to have them.” he paused looking at Scott. “I'm rambling. Does that make sense? Or am I crazy?”

Scott nodded slowly digesting this. “It make sense I guess. When Allison died.” his voice broke a little over her name and Stiles flinched internally. “I didn't blame you though. I could never blame you. You've always had my back. That _thing_ that took over your body, but it wasn't you. I know that. I know _you_. I trust _you_. That will never change man.”

Stiles nodded. He couldn't even trust himself to reply to that, let alone trust himself not to fuck everything up for everyone at the first opportunity. All he could do was hope that one day he would have the faith in himself that Scott seemed to, that he would be worthy of it. That he would be able to trust himself again. “So what did Deaton give you for me?” he asked by way of changing the subject.

“Uh, just a sec...” Scott rummaged around in his school bag briefly before removing a crumpled piece of paper and an envelope. He passed them over to Stiles. “Deaton wrote out some stuff for you after you left.” He said gesturing at the paper. “Just in case you changed your mind.”

Stiles scanned the paper. In neat cursive Deaton had detailed what appeared to be meditation exercises and a couple of web addresses. He folded it carefully and put it in his back pocket. Then he turned his attention to the envelope which felt weighty in his hand. He peeked inside it and then tipped the contents carefully into his open palm. There was a pinkish stone attached to a silver chain. “He gave me a necklace?” Stiles asked Scott looking confused.

“A pendant.” Scott corrected, amused. “He said it was uh... rose quartz I think. Supposed to be calming and peaceful or something. It's to use with your spark. He said you can drop by any time and he'll help you out if you want.”

Stiles nodded. The pendant was heavy but he looped it carefully over his neck and tucked the lump of rose quartz under his t-shirt hidden from view. “Thanks man.”

“That's OK.” Scott replied.

“No. I mean it. I was a dick yesterday and I'm sorry, but you've always got my back and I know that. So thanks.”

“We've got each others back.” Scott corrected slapping him on the shoulder. “Besides you've already said sorry. Now stop making it weird.”

 

o0o

 

It was strange being back at school after the events of the weekend. He seemed to drift through the day without the usual thrum of nervous energy that characterised him. He was exhausted from all the drama of the last forty eight hours and that coupled with the nightmares and sleep deprivation of the last few months meant he was finding it especially hard to concentrate. He managed to fumble his way through it though. Scott shared the first two classes with him and kept jabbing him in the side if it looked like he was going to fall asleep. He even offered to lend Stiles his Biology notes to help him catch up. It was a weird sort of role reversal.

It wasn't until lunch that Lydia sought him out, sitting herself down between him and Scott.

“So?” She greeted as she sat down.

“So what?” Replied Scott with a cheeky smile.

“So, have you two made up and has Stiles got his head out of his ass yet?” She said as she began eating her lunch. Elegantly eating lunch Stiles noted. For fucks sake only Lydia Martin could make eating lunch in a school cafeteria  _elegant_.

"Yes, we're good.” responded Scott decisively.

“And Stiles is trying to remove his head from his ass but it's a tricky operation and it might take a while.” Stiles quipped.

“Maybe if Stiles stopped referring to himself in the third person he'd make more progress...” Lydia said flashing a smile.

“Stiles didn't have his head up his ass in the first place.” Scott said defensively, “So it's irrelevant.”

“Aww buddy. You've always got my back.” Stiles said feeling a rush of affection for his friends. He started adding ketchup to his curly fries. “But I have been wallowing! I have been allowing myself to wallow! Wallowing has been permitted! It's time for the wallowing to stop! Also I've said wallow too many times and now it sounds weird to me. Wallow. Wallow. Wallow. God! What kind of word is that?”

He glanced up to see both Lydia and Scott looking at him, each with an eyebrow raised quizzically.

He paused and looked at them. “What?” He said defensively through a mouthful of curly fries and ketchup. “Sometimes if you say a word too much it sounds weird. Right?”

Scott shrugged and resumed eating.

“I have _never_ felt more sympathy for Derek Hale then I do right now.” muttered Lydia darkly.

“Hey!” Stiles sputtered indignantly.

Scott looked thoughtful. “It is kinda weird that this happened to you and _Derek_ though” he mused.

“I absorbed someone's psyche into my head, I'm pretty that would be weird whoever ended up here.” Stiles responded tapping the side of his head for emphasis.

“It's always the two of you though isn't it though?” Scott countered. “You always end up in this kind of situation together. Like you can't... Like...” he made a gesture his two fists bumping together.

“Magnets.” Lydia interjected a sly look on her face. “Total opposites, irresistibly drawn to each other.”

“We're not drawn to each other. If anything it's _more_ like the universe keeps throwing us together.” Stiles said a little defensively. “It's the _universes fault._ Besides he needs someone who'll stand up to him. He can be kind of an asshole and...”

“Takes one to know one I guess...” Lydia sniped under her breath.

“Hey!” Stiles sputtered again, “I heard that!"

“You were meant to.” Lydia replied sweetly.

“A little support please bro?” he looked at Scott pleadingly.

“You are kind of...” Scott made a non-wolfed out growly face, “Rawr, with each other y'know. Like you both _enjoy_ pushing each others buttons.”

Stiles gaped. “That's not...”

Lydia rolled her eyes and said derisively. “Enough of this Stiles. Think of it this way. Derek being trapped in your head is like the universe putting you both on the naughty step until you can play nicely with each other.”

Scott snorted with laughter.

“That's not... It's not how it is.” Stiles started.

“Seriously though bro.” Scott cut in. “You should _both_ try and be nicer to each other. Take the opportunity. Lydia has a point.”

“I _am_ nice! It's him...” but then Stiles paused. In a rush he remembered his conversation with Derek in the woods on the night they had found the urn. Derek had been trying to be nice in his own way, had actually been trying to offer support and he had just shut him down. He had actually been as cruel he could be because he didn't want _nice_ from Derek, what he wanted was a fight.

He shut his mouth abruptly and felt his cheeks heat up.

Scott seemed to notice and reached over to clap Stiles on the back reassuringly. “I'd say the same thing to Derek if it helps.” He said.

It didn't.

 

o0o

 

  
Despite this disturbing lunch time realization the day had been going quite well all things considered.

That was until AP History came along.

He had meant _not_ to fall asleep until he had spoken to Deaton and got some kind of handle on how he was to start controlling his nightmares.

He meant to go straight to Deaton after school and speak to him.

That was what he _meant_ to do.

He hadn't counted on AP History though. Scott wasn't in this class and Lydia didn't sit anywhere near him. The afternoon was drowsily warm and he found himself drifting without even realizing it, his head too muzzy to concentrate. It wasn't really his fault. Nights with reduced sleep and nightmarish dreams had left him weary. Even if that weren't the case, Ms Lytton, his teacher stood at the front of the class apparently unaware that half the students had given up listening entirely. He zoned in and out as he doodled idly in the margin of his text book. Ms Lytton's voice droned on and he found his head sinking comfortably into the crook of his elbow. His eyelids started to droop as the teachers words just hit the front of his brain and trickled meaninglessly away. He couldn't take any of it in as he drifted into sleep.

 

o0o

 

 

He was dreaming again.

He took in his surroundings as the dream took shape around him. His heart sank as he recognized the room. It was the room he had shared with Oliver at Eichen House. He was lying on his bed but when he tried to move he couldn't. He tilted his head downward and saw that his arms and legs were strapped to the bed and he was gagged. The last time he had been gagged and bound at Eichen House was in the basement, when the Nogitsune reasserted it's possession over him.

He felt his felt sweat bead on his brown and his heart felt like it would beat out of his chest as he struggled against the leather restraints but all to no avail.

He couldn't be here. Not here.

He couldn't.

He couldn't.

He couldn't breathe.

He could feel the onset of a panic attack coming. He tried again, tugging his arms against the restraints but he couldn't break them. His heartbeat was thundering in his ears now as he fought for every breath. He _hated_ Eichen House. Hated it.

Tears leaked down his cheeks. As his head thudded back down against his pillow helplessly.

He was powerless.

Again.

The door opposite his bed opened and Brunski, the head orderly, loomed in the doorway a predatory smile on his face and a syringe in his hand. Stiles started thrashing in the bed trying to free himself with renewed vigor.

Fuck.

Fuck. Shitting fuckitty fuck.

He needed to be out of here now but he was too panicked to focus and try and will himself away like he had somehow managed when his mother had attacked Derek in his previous nightmare.

Brunski's smile widened and his eyes glittered dangerously. He seemed to be enjoying Stiles distress.

“It's be better not to move you know.” he said strolling forward casually. “It'll hurt more if you move.” He ran a finger down the side of Stiles neck and Stiles shuddered in revulsion. “If you move too much I might _accidentally_ break this needle off in your pretty neck.” Brunski continued. “I don't think you want that.”

Stiles tried to scream but the gag over his mouth meant the sound died in his throat.

Brunski grabbed Stiles hair with his free hand and used it to yank his head to one side exposing his neck. Stiles struggled, but the grip was too strong his fingers gripped the sheets on the bed. He felt the point of the needle sharp against his skin.

Brunski leaned in and Stiles closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable.

“Urghh” Brunski shuddered and Stiles' eyes flew open. The needle fell from Brunski's hand dropping onto the bed before rolling onto the floor. His hands spasmed and Stiles jerked his head away to see what was happening.

He could have cried with relief.

Derek _fucking_ Hale, alive and well, his claws digging into the meat of Brunski's back. The nightmare of Brunski crumpled and then seemed to disperse into the air.

Stiles struggled against the restraints and the gag.

Derek looked down at him with that now familiar look of angry concern and used a claw to slice through the restraints. He helped Stiles to sit up and round on the bed and then gently undid the gag.

Stiles sagged against him weak from panic and relief, gulping oxygen into his lungs. His forehead rested against the broad, warm expanse of Derek's chest.

“Th-thank Fuck.” he mumbled, he felt so relieved. He was beginning to realize it wasn't just relief that Brunski was gone. He was relieved to see Derek, to know that Derek was okay. He sagged a little further against Derek.

Derek's hands hung awkwardly by his side but when Stiles showed no signs of moving he raised one slowly and patted him on the back.

“Are you OK?” Derek asked gruffly.

Stiles scrunched his eyes shut, he really didn't want to move. Sighing, he leaned back and looked at Derek.

“Yeah. Yeah I'm fine, thanks man. Just relieved that's over and also y'know relieved that your not dead. You looked a lot worse when I saw you last.”

Derek stepped back his posture a little stiff and folded his arms defensively. “I'm okay. It's okay.” he responded stiltedly.

“I didn't mean to fall asleep again. I meant to speak to Deaton and try and get some idea how to control the nightmares first. In case I end up hurting you again.” Stiles said suddenly.

“So you haven't spoken to Deaton then?” Derek asked taking a seat on Oliver's bed.

“Um... yeah.” Stiles hesitated.

“Well, what did he say?” Derek said.

“We argued. I don't want to get into it, but I don't think we're any closer to getting you out of my head.” Stiles said. “He's given me some stuff though, information to maybe help me control my nightmares and a pendant that's supposed to make me all zen. Maybe...” he swallowed round a lump that had formed in his throat, “Maybe work out how to get you to share this body with me so you're not just stuck in my nightmares waiting for me to show up. I just didn't get a chance to use it at all before I fell asleep in class.”

Stiles studied his hands a little not willing to look up and see how Derek was taking this news. When he did glance over at Derek he was surprised to find the man looking at him intently. Stiles stared back at him for a moment. “Are you okay?” he asked eventually. “I mean it's been pretty brutal and...” he trailed off.

Derek looked away and said nothing.

“It's fine,” Stiles mumbled morosely, “If you don't want to talk about it.”

There was a long pause and then Derek cleared his throat awkwardly and fixed his gaze on the ceiling before grinding out. “It's just... weird, for me, to... ah... to be here and not be able to smell you or hear your heartbeat.”

That was... unexpected, Stiles looked at him curiously but Derek stared resolutely at the ceiling his cheeks tinged a very faint pink.

 “Oh! Um... right... well, I get that.” Stiles said a little flustered. “You're a born wolf. You've never _not_ been able to do that with people. It must be... weird.”

 Derek shot him a piercing glance and his jaw clenched a little. He looked away again, saying nothing.

Stiles gnawed his bottom lip. This was steadily becoming the most awkward conversation in the history of awkward conversations. “Look, I know this whole situation sucks, but I wanted to say. I'm sorry. It's my fault that you're here. I should of listened to you and also I was an asshole to you in the forest when we were looking for the adhene, fairy or whatever it is. I know you were just trying to be supportive or whatever and I didn't handle it very well. I'm a mess at the moment, but that's no excuse. So. I'm sorry.”

Derek glanced at him the barest hint of a smile playing on his lips. A gentle huff of laughter escaped his lips. “Can I get that in writing?”

“Ha fucking ha.” Stiles said with a slight smile back. “I'm serious dumbass. I'm trying to apologize here. I know you don't like me or trust me, and we don't get on that well or whatever, but I want to try and make this suck as little as possible. For both our sakes.”

Derek's face seemed to close off as Stiles speech progressed, until his mouth was a thin line of displeasure.

“I never said I didn't like you.” he said in a clipped voice.

“Yeah well... I kind of took that as a given, I mean you slammed my head into a steering wheel.” Stiles responded candidly. “Besides you've definitely told me you don't trust me before now.” he looked at Derek curiously.

Derek was studying the floor, he looked tense.

“It's fine.” Stiles said trying to reassure him. “It's our dynamic, we... what did Scott say? We push each others buttons. That's just the way it is.”

Stiles stood up. “Come on sourwolf. No wallowing allowed. I have a moratorium on it.” Derek remained seated on Oliver's bed. “Should we just stay in this room?” Stiles wondered aloud. “Or do you think we should risk trying to move somewhere else?” he moved across the room and went to open the curtains.

“I like you.” Derek said abruptly.

Stiles paused his hands on the curtain. He suddenly felt hyper aware of his hands, his face, his feet, his everything. His stomach swooped. He turned slowly to look at Derek.

“You _like_ me?” He said weakly.

Derek grimaced and stood up resolutely. “I like you.” he affirmed. “You said I don't like you, but I do and,” he took a deep breath, “I trust you. I may not have at first, but after the pool and the kanima.” he paused gathering himself. “I trust you. You've earned that and you should know it. I _want_ you to know it.”

Stiles felt himself flush. “Yeah?” He said feeling happiness bloom in his chest for the first time in ages.

“Yes.” Derek responded. “I may not agree with you all the time, but that's because you're kind of an asshole at times and you need someone to call you on it.”

Stiles face split into a massive grin. “Well it takes one to know one Derek.”

Derek gave him a small smile in return.

It was okay. They were going to be okay.

 

o0o

   

He awoke to find Ms Lytton standing over him. Detention followed as a result after school but he couldn't feel bad about it. If anything he felt lighter then he had in days. It was early evening before he finally made his way over the clinic to speak to Deaton.

He arrived to find Deaton tidying round, obviously in the middle of shutting down the clinic for the day.

“Hi,” He said feeling a little awkward. “Scott said you would go through some of this stuff with me.” He fished the paper out of his back pocket and waved it in the air.

“Of course Stiles. I would be happy to. Just let me clean up in here.” Deaton busied himself for the next five minutes, and Stiles sat stiffly waiting for him. When he was finally ready he gestured for Stiles to come into a back room at the clinic where Derek's unconscious body was laid out on a fold out bed an IV drip in his arm. Stiles drifted toward him. Derek looked so peaceful like this and somehow younger. His face in repose was lax, none of the grimacing or scowling that so often characterized it. Stiles reached out a hand and brushed his fingers lightly across Derek's hair. It was soft. Softer than it looked.

“Physically he's fine.” Deaton said his voice jarring Stiles out of his thoughts. Stiles pulled back his hand as if it had been burned.

“Y-yeah?” he stuttered.

“Yes.” Deaton smiled reassuringly. “It is quite unlike anything I have ever seen.”

Stiles glanced back at Derek. “What's the drip for?”

“Nutrients, fluid balance. I don't want him to starve or dehydrate.” Deaton replied easily.

“Is he okay being left here overnight?” Stiles asked.

“Well the entire clinic is lined with mountain ash. So once I close the circle nothing supernatural can get in and harm him.” Deaton said, “Although I believe Scott is compiling a rota of people to keep watch over him while the clinic is closed.”

Stiles nodded. “I'm sorry, about storming out earlier.” he said.

“Thank-you Stiles. I appreciate that.”

Stiles smiled weakly. “So about this stuff you wrote down for me..."

 

o0o

  

The meditation exercises were pretty much like yoga as far as Stiles could tell. Lots of contorting himself into positions and breathing steadily, trying to clear his mind. It quickly became evident that sitting still with a clear mind was not something that came naturally to him and he rapidly became frustrated.

“I am so not built for all this yoga stuff.” he groused as he overbalanced flailing wildly and steadying himself against a cabinet.

“It's not yoga Stiles. These positions are not the same, they are designed specifically to produce a meditative state to allow you greater control in your dreamscape.” Deaton corrected him.

“Yeah. I'm gonna keep calling it yoga.” Stiles replied.

Deaton gave a long suffering sigh. “I appreciate that this is difficult Stiles but these meditations and positions may also help with your ADHD.”

“How did you know I have ADHD?” Stiles asked.

“A lucky guess.” Deaton replied wryly. “Let us talk about how to unlock the properties of the rose quartz.”

“Yeah, about that, I can't hold it in my dreams so how will that work.” Stiles pointed out.

“As long as it's touching your skin your spark can use it. It doesn't have to be in you're hands.” Deaton advised him. “We've already established that you can use your spark in your dreamscape so if you find yourself in a nightmare try and focus your breathing, maybe try to concentrate on a positive memory, a time when you have felt happy or at peace that should help, but mostly you have to believe that it will work. Just as you did when you used the mountain ash.”

Stiles nodded. He could do this. He had to.

 

o0o

  
  
  
  
**So, I have to really apologise for the delay in posting this. I completely underestimated the amount of time I had available to me. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. I confess it is unbetaed so any mistakes are mine, please let me know if you notice anything glaringly obvious, or if you have an concrit, or even better complements. I am grateful for every kudos and bookmark I receive and for anyone who has given this story a chance at all. Tentatively I'll say that I hope to post the next chapter by the 18th of July. Unless real life gets in the way again. Have a good week everyone!**  
  


 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek bond and grieve together. Deaton reveals how to get Derek back into his own body, but events take a sinister turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there are reference to Kate Argent in here and also to Stiles Mom. There are probably canon levels of horror. So if any of that's an issue then please read with caution.

Stiles got home that night feeling tired but better then he had in days. Weeks even. His Dad was still doing night shifts so he was alone in the house and he _really_ needed a shower. He thudded up the stairs to his bedroom.

Maybe, he reflected as he peeled off his shirt, he felt better because he had something to focus on now. Learning about his spark and how to tap into it gave him some control, gave him back some power over his situation, and he hadn't really had that for the longest time. That was definitely a big part of it. He tugged off his jeans and his socks and padded across to the bathroom.

It wasn't just that though and he knew it. Every now and again he would remember back to his dream from the afternoon, to the moment when Derek had said that he liked him, that he trusted him and something strange and hopeful would bloom in his chest. Even now he could feel his face splitting into a smile as he thought about it. He got in the shower, turned it on and stood under the spray.

He couldn't believe how much things had changed in less then a day. He had always told himself that he didn't care what Derek thought about him. Repeated it to himself again and again until he almost believed it.

He'd been lying obviously.

Derek had always been under his skin, had always mattered. On that first day, when he had seen him in the woods while looking for Scott's inhaler something had jumped in Stiles chest. He'd been physically attracted to Derek from the moment he'd met him. It had been a revelation, a bolt of lightning from a clear blue sky. Before that he'd idly wondered if he might be bisexual. From that moment on, he _knew_ he was. Even in the aftermath of Scott being bitten he found time to ask anyone who would listen “Am I attractive to gay guys?” He might have been, the jury was still out on that one, but what he _had_ realized fairly quickly was that he wasn't attractive to Derek, and he had immediately sublimated his disappointment into sarcasm, anger and mistrust toward the man.

'It's just physical.' He used to tell himself again and again. 'So apparently you have a type, hot like burning, terrifying and completely unattainable. It's self knowledge. It's good to know. You don't have to like Derek's personality to find him attractive. You just have to have working eyes.' Every body thought Derek was attractive right? He was like the universal type. So, he made a conscious decision early on to keep his emotions out of his attraction toward Derek Hale. Objectification was the name of the game and to Stiles mind, it _should_ have been easy enough. Sure, jack off occasionally thinking about the sharp lines of Derek's hip bones, his perfectly defined abs, his muscular arms; _don't_ allow yourself to like him as a person. That way madness lies.

Derek kept just _being_ there though, kept being this strange dichotomy. On one level, sure, he was this gruff, brooding asshole, with model good looks and a penchant for appalling decisions. On the other, he was the guy who _kept on trying._ Who had lost more then Stiles could ever dream of losing but kept going, kept trying to do the right thing. He never gave up. Never backed down. He kept saving Stiles and Stiles kept on saving him right back. Derek showed himself time and time again to be loyal, brave and even funny, in a quiet, dry way that never failed to make Stiles heart skip a beat.

Yeah...

He hadn't managed to stick to just objectifying Derek for his looks. It didn't matter whether it was Stiles holding him up in a pool for two hours, or ineptly trying to offer him comfort after Boyd's death. It didn't matter whether it was Derek rescuing him from Isaac or from Peter. It didn't matter. Derek kept being there. Kept being so much _more_ then Stiles wanted him to be. Stiles kept resisting it though, didn't want to fall for _another_ person who didn't like him back, and so he had fought it every step of the way, covering his conflicted feelings with a veneer of sarcasm and disdain.

Still, there Derek was, still under his skin, still _mattering_ to him; and what made it worse was, he hadn't seemed to matter to Derek. Not in _that_ way, not in _any_ way, not really. His feelings for Derek were this part of himself that he wished he didn't need, and so he suppressed them, denied them, to himself and to anyone else who asked.

The conversation with Derek in his dream today had changed everything though. He could be honest with himself now about what Derek meant to him. His hand reached lower to grip himself as steam from the shower rose around him. He paused. He had jerked off thinking about Derek before, but never like this. Normally it happened after he and Derek had bickered their way through some life or death situation. Stiles would come home feeling worried, relieved, furious and horny in equal measure. In those moments he tended to aggressively relieve the tension, coming so hard thinking about Derek that he saw stars. Afterwards though, he'd always felt guilty and disappointed with himself, like he had let himself down in some way.

His head thudded against the tiles of the shower. He couldn't let himself do this, not right now. Even if he was 99.9% sure that Derek didn't know he'd be jacking off, let alone to thoughts of him, it would feel weird and wrong. It would be a violation to indulge in this when the subject of his fantasies was trapped in his head. He swallowed and his hand groped forward, he found the dial and turned it to cold. He stood there under the freezing water until his teeth chattered, waiting for his erection to subside.

Things were different now though and he would be different. That was a promise.

He would be honest with himself.

He would accept all of who he was.

He was bisexual. He needed to embrace that. Not hide from it.

The truth was he cared about Derek. A lot. As more then a friend.

The truth was Derek would probably never return those feelings and that would always be painful, but not as painful as not having him in his life at all.

Derek liked him.

Derek cared about him as a friend.

Derek trusted him.

It was more then than he had allowed himself to hope for.

It would have to be enough.

 

o0o

 

He had done his meditation exercises that night (badly). He had fallen asleep clutching on to the rose quartz pendant trying his best to focus on a happy memory, just as Deaton had suggested. So perhaps it shouldn't have come as a surprise that when he started to dream it wasn't a nightmare but somehow it did.

He was on a beach.

It all looked vaguely familiar. In the way that dreams often do. The waves lapped at the shore and the sun was low on the horizon, a glowing tangerine.

It was beautiful.

Peaceful, in a way that the inside of his head hadn't been for a long time.

He took in a deep breath and looked out at the ocean. This whole place definitely looked familiar but he couldn't quite put his finger on why.

Behind him somebody cleared their throat and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Turning he saw Derek standing there looking a little out of place in his leather jacket but kind of beautiful in the fading light.

“Hey” Stiles said tentatively.

“Hey.” Derek replied.

There was a long pause.

“This is new.” Derek began. “It seems... nice.”

“Uh yeah.” Stiles began. “Deaton's been helping me out with the nightmares. Meditation exercises. Magic necklace. You know how it is.” He smile weakly. “How are you?”

“Uh... good. Good.” Derek replied rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and staring determinedly off to the side. He seemed a little nervous. “Any um... any news about getting me out?”

Stiles felt guilty. “No. Sorry. The focus at the moment has been on me controlling my dreams, so I don't accidentally kill you. Sorry.” He added again for good measure.

Derek nodded. They stood there in silence. It was awkward as hell. “This is awkward.” Stiles said, his brain to mouth filter apparently completely switched off.

“Yeah.” Derek agreed, still not really looking at him.

They stood in silence again.

“You wanna go for a walk down the beach?” Stiles asked.

“Sure.”

The beach was beautiful. Deserted. Quiet. The silence between them was deafening.

“I'm trying to work out where I know this beach from.” Stiles confessed, unable to tolerate the quiet any longer. “It _kind_ of reminds me a bit of a beach my parents used to take me to as a kid. They used to drive up to Crystal Cove State Park if my Dad had a weekend off in the summer and we used to camp there. There were loads of hiking trails and we'd go to the beach. I used to collect seashells for my Mom. I would collect every shell I could find, without prejudice and bring them back for her.” He chuckled ruefully. “It didn't matter whether they were chipped or broken. She used to wash the sand off them and bring them home. She put them in this big mason jar. We've still got them.”

He stopped suddenly feeling a lump rise in his throat and turned to look out at the sun setting over the sea. “It used to drive my Dad crazy.” Stiles continued, his voice cracking a little. “He used to say 'Half these shells are broken. Just take the best ones.' and she used to reply, 'I love them all. Life puts chips and cracks in every one of us John. None of us are perfect, but if you look hard enough there's beauty to be found everywhere. Even in the most broken looking things.'”

“I think I've seen the jar of shells at your house.” Derek said softly.

“Probably.” Stiles sniffed. “My Dad used to joke about how he was going to get rid of them. Then she got sick and...” he trailed off and took a long cleansing breath. “Do you wanna sit down for a bit?”

Derek nodded thoughtfully and they sat down next to each other looking out to the sea as it pounded relentlessly against the shore. Silence settled between them once again.

“I talked to Laura.” Derek said eventually, apropos of nothing. Stiles looked across at him questioningly. He continued. “The other day, when I told you to talk to someone about your guilt, you asked if I had done that, after the fire. I did. Laura.”

Stiles flushed guiltily as he remembered the conversation Derek was referring to. It hadn't exactly been his best moment, he had been lashing out at Derek in anger before his subconscious had slit Derek's throat to try and silence him.

“I'm sorry about saying that...” he started.

Derek raised a hand to stop him speaking. “It's fine. I get it. You were angry, afraid and probably feeling guilty, and I was telling you what you didn't want to hear. You lashed out.” he smiled wryly. “I know what it's like to _feel_ that. I know what it's like to _do_ that, to need someone to blame. I didn't mind being that... for you.”

There was another awkward pause.

“I don't want us to be that to each other though.” Stiles said in a rush. “I want us to be better then that. I want us to be... friends and friends don't do that.” he trailed off. He didn't trust himself to say anything more. He was afraid he would inadvertently reveal to Derek that he was starting to feel things for him that went well beyond friendship. He let them lapse into the safety of silence again.

Derek surprised him by talking once more.“Laura wouldn't let me blame myself for the fire. She was so angry, but not with me. Never with me. For ages I just couldn't understand why, because in my mind I was just as much to blame for everything as Kate. More even. I was just her ignorant stupid kid brother who had cost her everything. I couldn't understand how she could bear to look at me. She used to tell me it wasn't my fault and I used to get so angry with her for not understanding. For not blaming me too.” Derek looked out to the ocean, watching the sun as drifted slowly toward the horizon.

“What happened?” Stiles asked curiously.

“We were in New York. She was making me go through college, but I was angry, frightened and consumed by guilt. I just didn't see how she could _not_ blame me, let alone love me, but she kept on being there. She kept on telling me she loved me and that she didn't blame me. In the end I just couldn't handle the guilt of seeing her every day so I ran away.”

He paused picking up a handful of sand and let it drift through his fingers.

“She tracked me down at this coach station and she was so _angry_ with me, so afraid, so _furious._ It was the first time I'd really seen her angry with me since before the fire.” He laughed hollowly. “She was finally angry with me and it wasn't even because I let the woman in who killed our entire family, it was because I had left _._ She grabbed me and said 'I love you, you dumbass. I love you so _fucking_ much. Don't ever leave me again. Don't ever leave me alone.' We both sat in this coach station, crying our eyes out and I got it. Like I finally _got it._ A moment of clarity. It wasn't my fault. It was Kate. Kate was insane. She would have found a way to do what she'd done with or without me. Everyone was gone but it really _wasn't_ my fault, and I knew that if I didn't try and accept that, then Laura would be losing the only family member she had left. I loved her too much to give up.” Derek gave a long shaky sigh.

Stiles couldn't bring himself to look at Derek. He felt so raw, so exposed just listening to Derek's words. Derek continued. “I guess what I'm saying is. I get it. I get what your going through as much as anyone can. I know I've made mistakes since you've known me. I'm not perfect and I'm probably not your first choice of confidante but I _want_ to be here for you. Even if it is just so that you can have someone to yell at. You want to scream. Scream at me. I can take it. You want to punch someone. Punch me. I'll heal. Just don't give up. We need you Stiles.”

Stiles heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. His throat was full and his eyes filled with tears. “Well, I do like having someone to yell at.” he joked weakly feeling a tear trickle down his face, he swiped it away. He could feel Derek watching him intently and he finally braved a glance up, what he saw stole his breath away. Derek was crying too, tears trickling freely down his cheeks.

Stiles gave a choked sob and lunged forward for a hug without giving it conscious thought. Derek hesitated for a second before returning it. They clung to each other. Stiles buried his face in the crook of Derek's shoulder as they held on to each other tightly and wept.

Stiles sobbed gut wrenching tears for all the family and friends they'd lost.

He cried for the horror and nightmare of the last year.

He cried for all his mistakes.

He cried for all the times his best efforts weren't quite good enough.

He cried in relief because finally he felt like he wasn't alone in this. 

He cried until there were no tears left to cry.

Even then they didn't move, just sat there snotty, damp and embracing while the sun dipped down below the horizon united in a shared sense of grief and the comfort they found in each other.

 

o0o  


He wasn't surprised when he woke to find that his pillow was damp with tears. He wasn't even surprised to find that he felt lighter somehow. He'd heard someone say once that a burden shared was a burden halved. Well that person knew their shit as far as he could tell.

He checked his phone and there was a message from Scott. It must have come through last night after he had fallen sleep. Apparently Deaton had managed to find someone who could advise them how to get Derek's psyche back into his own body. He felt a pang at the thought of not having Derek in his dreams any more. He'd only been their a short while, but Stiles had gotten used to him. He wasn't sure how their friendship would survive the transition out of his dreams and into reality. He was pleased for Derek though and agreed to meet Scott and Deaton at the clinic after school and managed with a herculean effort, not to fall asleep at all during classes that day.

He and Scott arrived at the clinic in good time and Deaton was just ushering the last of his clients out as they arrived.

"Scott! Stiles!” he greeted them with a small smile. “I have good news I hope.”

“Yeah Scott said.” Stiles said smiling a little. “So what do we have to do.”

“A friend of mine from a Grove in Canada has advised me there is a spell that should work. There is quite a bit of preparation involved though.” Deaton moved to rest his hands on his workbench. “I have had to order a very specific artifact for use in the spell. It will take about a week to arrive.”

“Where do you even order stuff like that from?” asked Stiles curiously.

“Ebay.” Deaton said smoothly.

Stiles snorted with laughter. “No but seriously.”

Deaton looked at him with an air of disapproval. “I am perfectly serious Mr. Stilinski.”

Scott and Stiles looked at each with mounting incredulity. “No way.” they said in unison.

Deaton raised an eyebrow but didn't deign to comment again.

“I have ordered the artifact, in the mean time we need to gather the other ingredients for the spell.” he continued smoothly. “You bought part of the urn back with you, which was fortuitous and most of the other things I am able to supply. However, I need a hair from the Adhene. I should warn you, it is unlikely that this fairy will give it up willingly.”

Stiles snorted derisively.

Deaton ignored him. “You will need to cut it using this.” he produced a thin silver knife. “Be careful, we know little about this creature, what it is capable of or how dangerous it could be if it is pushed.”

Scott nodded reaching out to take the knife from Deaton. “We'll get a group together and head out into the preserve. When will this artifact arrive by?”

“Hopefully by Friday, I ordered the express delivery.” Deaton replied.

“Then we have three days to research this creature, hunt it down and cut off a lock of it's hair.” Scott said firmly. “We need to find out as much as we can, I don't want to go in there unprepared.”

Stiles thought back to the Adhene's cave. The jumble of trophies and the dirty sleeping bag on the cave floor. It felt like a lifetime ago. “I can help with research, and I can handle the mountain ash if you think we'll need it.”

“You sure dude? It's okay if you want to sit this one out.” Scott said.

“I owe it to Derek to fix this. I can't just sit by while everyone else does the work.” Stiles replied firmly.

Scott looked at him for a long moment. “Okay. I'll speak to Chris Argent tonight, see if he has any information in the bestiary. I'll meet you back at yours afterwards and we can get some research done.”

“Great.” Stiles said, “I'll get Lydia to meet us over there. Maybe Malia and Kira as well. We can do this.”

They left the clinic together. Scott hopped on his bike and pulled away quickly. Stiles however, sat in his car for five minutes while he pulled out his phone and sent out a group text to everyone asking them to meet at his house later.

He was startled by a sharp knock on his driver side window that made him jump. Deaton was standing there watching him intently.

Stiles felt a shiver pass through him, but rolled down the window. “You scared the shit out of me.” he said with feeling.

Deaton stared at him saying nothing.

“Did you want something?” Stiles said, feeling unaccountably uneasy.

Deaton's head cocked to one side, the movement almost bird like. “Yes. I forgot to mention before. I need one more thing for the spell. Could you go and get it for me?”

“Uh... sure.” Stiles said. “What is it.”

“I need you to drive out to the preserve. You know where the burned out house is?”

“The old Hale house?” Stiles said with confusion. “Yeaaaah of course.”

“Go to that house and bring me back the blue flower that you'll find there growing in the ruins of it.”

“Um... okaaay. You need it right now?”

Deaton gave him a piercing look. “Yes. It needs to be dried out and ground in to powder before it can be used. That takes time.”

Stiles looked at him. There was something... not quite right about this. He just couldn't put his finger on it. “I'll go straight away.” he said feigning a bright smile.

Deaton nodded. “Good.”

Stiles turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the clinic car park very aware that Deaton was standing immobile watching him intently as he drove away.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something was weird about that whole conversation. Once he had driven a few streets away he pulled over and tried to call Scott. There was no reply. He tapped the steering wheel. He was probably just being paranoid. There was nothing wrong with Deaton, he had seemed fine in the clinic, surely Scott would have picked up on it if anything was wrong.

Still though...

In the end he decided to compromise. He fired off a quick text message to Scott telling him that Deaton had asked him to go out to the old Hale house at the preserve for another spell ingredient. That way if it turned out he wasn't paranoid at least Scott would know where he had been and who had sent him.

With that he started the engine and drove out to the preserve.

 

o0o

  
  
He arrived at the old Hale house cut the engine and scrambled out of his Jeep. It was eerily quiet here save for the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. The Hale house, which had seemed so desolate when he met Lydia here yesterday felt somehow different. He felt different. Looking at it now he saw plants were growing up and around the old structure, peaking through the windows. The scorched earth had provided fertile ground for life to spring up as the preserve slowly reclaimed the house. There was a sad, wild beauty to it that he hadn't noticed before. Perhaps this was it. Life beat you, burned you down to the ground but out of the charred ruins of what you were could come new things. Good things. It was an encouraging thought.

He walked carefully up to the house and gingerly opened the front door. The floorboards beneath his feet creaked ominously, and he winced, honestly the entire thing felt like it was one strong wind away from collapsing around his ears. He made his way slowly and carefully through the ground floor rooms before finally finding what he was looking for in the shell of what must have been the old kitchen.

Something like relief flooded over him. If the flower was here then this wasn't some kind of weird and implausible trap. Deaton was just being Deaton. Weird and cryptic but essentially good.

He picked a flower and carefully made his way back through the ruins of the house. Maybe Deaton would still be back at the clinic and he could drop the flower in there straight away.

He scampered down the porch steps and made his way back over to his Jeep. He opened the trunk of his car rummaging about to find the giant physics text book he knew was there somewhere. “Yessss.” he hissed as he finally dug it out from under the mound of miscellaneous crap that he kept there. He laid the flower in between two pages at the center of the book and then pressed it closed carefully.

Shutting his trunk he carried the book back round to the driver's side only to nearly drop it as his phone rang.

It was Scott.

“Yo! Scotty. What can I do for you.”

“Stiles. Where...you?” it was a terrible connection, but it sounded like Scott was frantic.

“At the old Hale house. I left you a message didn't you get it?”

“Shit!”

“Scott?” Stiles felt panic rise in his chest. “Scott what's wrong?”

The reception on the phone kept cutting in and out, he could only make out every other word “The...not... fairy... Stiles. Deaton... trap!”

“Wha- ?” Stiles began but the line crackled and went dead. He started to panic.

He flung the book into the passenger seat intending to get in the car and drive away but then he heard something.

He whirled around.

There standing against the tree line was a scrawny looking man. He had a scraggily beard and his clothing was old and ill fitting. His eyes glittered dangerously and as he smiled at Stiles there was something predatory about him.

Stiles stood frozen like a deer caught in headlights as the man moved toward him with surprising grace.

“Wh-who are you...” Stiles stuttered.

“You don't recognise us?” the man asked. Stiles shuddered, the man's voice was like many voices speaking in harmony at once, musical and unearthly and very much _not_ human. It freaked him the fuck out.

“Should I?” Stiles said his hand groping behind him to find something. Anything he could use as a weapon.

“Do you recognise us now?” the man said and just like that he started to change as he walked toward Stiles. He grew taller, broader all the lines and edges of him blurring and changing. It was the sound that accompanied this transformation that made Stiles want to vomit though. Bones crunched and flesh reformed ripping and knitting back together until finally it stopped and Deaton stood before him.

“It was you... outside the clinic.” Stiles gasped. “I knew it. I knew something was wrong.”

“In a manner of speaking.” the thing said in that musical voice.

Stiles scowled, angry with himself. He had become so used to doubting himself in recent weeks that he hadn't followed his gut instinct. “What do you want with me.” he snapped.

The creature wearing Deaton's face cocked it's head to one side like a bird and it's eyes seemed to glitter. “You took it from us.” it whispered reaching out a hand. “You took it and it was not yours to take.”

“Took what?! I haven't taken anything. Seriously!” his hand groped furiously behind him. He had to have something in this stupid car that he could use as a weapon.

The things lip curled in a snarl. “Lies. You lie to us human. You broke it and then you took part of it. We know you have it, tell us where it is.”

Stiles hand closed over a smooth cylindrical container. Mace. A wolfsbane mix that he and Lydia had concocted. He grasped it tightly.

“I don't know what you mean.” he said with more courage then he felt. He would have one chance to do this. One chance to spray this fucker in the face and then jump in his Jeep and get the fuck out of dodge. It's face twisted in anger. “If you won't tell us.” it hissed. “We will take the information ourselves.” 

It began to change again, Stiles gulped and nearly screamed. The creature's jaw began to unhinge, his mouth growing wider and wider till all Stiles could see were row upon row of shiny needle like teeth. It moved in it swiftly to try and bite Stiles neck.

He only had a moment to react. Reaching up Stiles sprayed the mace directly into the creatures eyes. It howled in agony staggering backward. He pushed the creature, shoved it as a hard as he could sending it off balance tumbling to the floor. Then he flung himself into his Jeep and shut the door.

With shaking fingers he fumbled with the keys desperately trying to start his car. The thing, the Adhene he supposed, was crouched on the ground rubbing furiously at its eyes and screeching loudly. It was shifting swapping from one form to another, like the pain had meant it was unable to hold its shape, morphing between the image of Deaton and the scrawny looking man who had first approached him. Stiles only watched in horror for a second before he tried to start the engine which sputtered and stalled. In the distance Stiles heard a howl. A werewolf. Scott was obviously coming for him and God knows who else.

If he could just get away from it, hold it off long enough for Scott to get here. Another howl different and a little close. Malia maybe?

The creature had finally settled on it's original form, it hissed angrily staggering to it's feet.

He tried the key again and with a jolt the Jeeps engine turned over, rumbling into life. Stiles threw the car in to gear and with a screech of tires, floored the accelerator and flew along the dirt road from the old house. The thing behind him was still lurching about screeching in anger. Stiles hands shook as the Jeep rattled and bounced along the road. Another glance in his review mirror showed the creature had recovered enough to try and pursue him. He grinned though. There was no way this thing would be quick enough to catch him. He dragged his eyes back to the road ahead and with one hand fumbled his seatbelt, _just_ managing to click it into place. There was an ear splitting scream and the sound of tearing flesh. He glanced at the rear-view mirror and nearly screamed himself.

The thing was crouched on all fours, it had transformed again, it's face distorted and demonic. Like something from his worst nightmares. The skin on it's back was bubbling like water boiling in a pot. It's mouth was open in a relentless shriek. Huge bat like wings were forcing there way out of it's back, growing before his eyes. They unfurled, huge, leathery and black. With a brief run and a jump the creature launched itself into the air.

“Motherfucker!” Stiles shouted with real feeling. He was doomed. Doomed.

He glanced back at the road and barely had time to react.

He hadn't been paying attention.

There was a sharp bend and he was about to overshoot it and go careening into the preserve. The creature landed with a thud on the roof of the Jeep, sharp talons digging in through the roof, shredding the metal with ease. Stiles spun the wheel in a blind panic trying to negotiate the curve but the Jeep was going too quickly. The momentum carried him forward and before he could stop it the Jeep spun wildly and crashed into a tree.

Everything went black.

 

o0o

  
  


**So... bit of a cliffhanger... I will aim to get the final chapter of Clarity up next week. I should also probably say that there will be a sequel to this story. So... there's that.  
** **I'm always grateful for anyone who takes the time to review, or who add kudos you guys are the reason I've kept writing this. Let me know if you have any concrit or even complements(!) and thanks so much for reading this story :-)**

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's here! The final chapter and it's a monster which is why it's about a week late. Sorry!

Stiles drifted slowly into consciousness. He was aware first of the sterile smell of a hospital, then the scratch of coarse sheets against tender skin and finally the beeping of machinery. His eyes flickered open and he winced in light which felt much too bright. Then, there was a rush pain, so much pain, he groaned.

“Stiles!” his Dad leaned over him suddenly. “Thank God you're awake son. Stop don't struggle. I'm here.”

“Dad...” he croaked.

“It's okay son. You hit your head in the accident and fractured two ribs.” his Dad looked at him with kind, worried eyes. “I'll get the nurse, they'll want to know you've woken up.”

His Dad left the room quickly and Stiles let his eyes drift shut. Every part of his body ached. He felt bruised and every time he breathed in his ribs throbbed. He couldn't remember much. Just that thing chasing him and then blankness. No dreams and no chats with Derek. Perhaps the creature had done something to him while he slept. Maybe Derek was no longer in his mind. He felt panic rise unbidden in his chest.

Whatever machine was monitoring his heart rate started beeping furiously and two nurses rushed into the room followed by his Dad.

“Wha-” he tried to form a sentence but his voice was still cracked from disuse.

“Okay. Okay. Calm down. You're all right. You were in a car accident, but you'll be okay. You need to calm down.” one of the nurses said soothingly.

“Derek?” Stiles managed to rasp looking imploringly at his Dad.

His Dad gave him a significant look, “It's okay son. Derek's just fine.”

Obviously his father knew something but was unable to give more details in front of the nurses.

The nurses fussed over Stiles making him comfortable and taking observations. They gave him some water to drink and made sure he took some painkillers before bustling out and leaving him with his Dad.

“We think Derek's fine son.” his Dad said quickly. “Scott told me what's been going on, and as far as anyone can tell Derek's psyche is still in your mind.”

Stiles looked sceptical. “That... creature attacked me though and since I absorbed Derek he's always been in my dreams but this time, he wasn't. What if-”

“It's fine son.” his Dad interjected with gentle authority. “You crashed the car and lost consciousness but then Derek took over your body. He got you out of the car and was fighting off that whatever y'call it when Scott arrived. I think it freaked Scott out a bit when he realised he was talking to Derek in your body, but whatever that thing was trying to do to you, it didn't get to do it – because of Derek.”

“What happened then?”

“Well you were injured pretty bad and I think shortly after Scott arrived you collapsed. Nobody could wake you up to talk to you _or_ Derek after that. Nobody was sure if it was a delayed response to the injuries from the car accident or whether it was to do with Derek being forced to take control of your body, Scott brought you here though... to be on the safe side.”

Stiles nodded pensively.

His Dad gave him a long look.“I thought we were past this son.” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought you trusted me.”

“We- I- I do Dad. I do trust you. I could never _not_ trust you.” Stiles responded.

“Then why? Why wouldn't you tell me what was going on?” his Dad said with mounting frustration.

“Well... we hadn't really seen each other. I mean you were on nights and I've been at school so...” Stiles trailed off, it was a weak response and they both knew it.

His Dad shook his head with resignation and cradled his head in his hands. Disappointment radiated from him. “You couldn't have picked up a phone?” Stiles felt guilt swoop in his chest.

“I- I could have I... I didn't want to worry you.” he said truthfully. “I'd already put you through enough with the Nogitsune and... and I didn't want to be a burden. I- I'm sorry.”

His Dad gave a choked snort and looked at him. “Stiles loving you, being there for you, sorting out all these crazy things you get involved in... that's a burden I _want_ to have. So don't you dare, don't you _dare_ take that burden away from me.” he grabbed Stiles hand and squeezed it firmly. “You have to start letting me in son. We have to start talking about stuff, I don't want to be finding out about important things that have happened in your life through Scott or because I've had a phone call from the hospital. Can we agree to that? ”

Stiles nodded to choked up to speak, he moved to sit up a little wanting to hug his Dad but grimaced in pain. His Dad put a hand out gently to stop him and leaned forward to embrace him carefully instead.

Stiles could smell the woodsy sandalwood notes of his father's aftershave and feel the comforting warmth of his body. He felt himself relax a little. His Dad was right. Now was the time to be honest.He couldn't do anything about the last few months, but he could be honest now, in this moment. “Dad,” he croaked out, “I think I'm bisexual.” his Dad stiffened slightly and leaned back to look at him with questioning eyes. “I'm bisexual.” Stiles reiterated with more confidence, “And I think I might be falling for Derek Hale.”

His Dad sat right back on the bed and gave Stiles a long searching look. “Okay.” he said finally. “I wasn't expecting that but... but okay. First off you know I'll always love you right? No matter _who_ you 're attracted to or who you love, guys or girls. ”

Stiles gave him a small smile. “I figured, but it's a relief to hear you say it.”

His Dad looked down at his hands for a moment and picked at the cuff of his jacket. “Does- um- does Derek feel the same way about... um...”

“No.” Stiles laughed hollowly. “No. I mean, I've not asked him but I'm pretty sure he doesn't swing that way so...”

His Dad looked up at him with sympathetic eyes. “I'm sorry son. That's gotta be painful.”

Stiles gave a wan smile. “It's just the way I'm programmed Dad. Falling head over heels for hot, intimidating, unattainable people who are out of my league seems to be my MO.”

“Hey.” his Dad said crossly. “Nobody is out of your league son, and if _anyone_ thinks they are and chooses not to be with you for such a stupid reason then it's their loss. ”

“Aw... shucks Dad. You're making me blush.” Stiles said, affection swelling within him. “Bring it in old man, I want a hug.”

“Hmm.” his Dad harrumphed but he leaned in again gently and gave Stiles a careful hug. “How old is Derek Hale?” he murmured slyly.

“Hey!” Stiles sputtered indignantly. “I liked it better when you were being all supportive.”

“Still supportive!” his Dad exclaimed. “I'm just... interested. I suppose if I want to know I can always check his record down at the station...”

“Da-ad!” Stiles whined. “I didn't tell you this so you could...”

“I know son. I know.” His Dad interrupted him, smiling widely. “I was just teasing. I've got a lot of respect for Derek he's a good guy and he's been through a lot. He _is_ a little older then you but you're nearly eighteen now so...”

“He's also a little not in to dudes and not attracted to me.” Stiles groused moodily, “So it's a complete non-issue.”

 

o0o

 

Scott dropped by later and Stiles was pleased and relieved to see him. His Dad left them alone and went to get food from the hospital canteen and within minutes Scott was catching Stiles up on all that had happened.

“I got your text and then Deaton phoned me to ask if I could pick up an extra shift at the clinic next week. I mentioned that you were on your way to the old Hale house like he'd asked and he didn't know what I was talking about, so I straight away _knew_ something was up.” Scott said. “I was with Chris and he said that some fairies have been known to shapeshift. So then I put two and two together and called you.”

“As soon as I got the call it cornered me.” Stiles admitted.

Scott continued. “I called Kira and Malia and asked them to meet me at the Hale house and then Chris and I booked it over there in his car. I think we broke every speed limit in existence.” he paused. “When we got there your Jeep was mangled man, and you... well Derek was controlling your body and was struggling to fight that thing off. Shall I still call it an Adhene? Some kind of evil fairy anyway.”

Stiles swallowed. He had tried not to give much thought to the fact that Derek had actually taken control of his body. The idea of relinquishing control of his body to _anyone_ post Nogitsune had terrified him. Scott continued, “ It was lucky the way it worked out man. I don't think Derek could have held it off much longer but we arrived in time to take it out.”

“Did you kill it?” Stiles asked.

“Scott shook his head. “Wounded it though, knocked it out briefly and even in all the confusion I did manage to get this...” He pulled out a clear plastic bag and inside was a tuft of blackish hair.

Stiles looked at him with obvious confusion.

“Fairy hair dude. For the spell. I cut it from it's head whilst it was unconscious.”

“Cool.” Stiles said enthusiastically. “Where's the evil fairy now?”

Scott looked contrite. “We were all crowded round you because you, well, Derek in your body, collapsed shortly after the fight and we were worried.”

Stiles head thudded back on to his pillow. “The fairy escaped.” he said flatly.

“Yeah.” Scott said uneasily. “Just seemed to disappear while we were all crowded round you. I've got Kira and Malia trying to track it though.” he added. “We'll get it, and the most important thing is, we got what we needed for the spell.”

Stiles paused suddenly, remembering. “It wanted the bit of the urn that we took.” he said suddenly. “That's why it tried to attack me, it was trying to find out what we'd done with it. It kept saying I'd broken something and then taken part of it. It was talking about the urn. You'll have to keep it safe, because it might try and get it back before we get a chance to do the spell.”

“Okay.” Scott nodded. “I'll get onto Deaton and we'll sort something out. Encase it in mountain ash or something, until we need it.”

“You'll need to set up some way of verifying who you're speaking to as well.” Stiles said firmly. “It's a shapeshifter remember.”

“Dude.” Scott laughed. “It's already in hand. Stop worrying, I'm sorting it out.”

Stiles looked at him suspiciously. “Who are you and what have you done with Scott? How do I know you're not the evil fairy? Prove it man...”

Scott looked at him “Seriously? Okay. In Junior High you broke into the janitors office and...”

“OKAY. Okay. Enough, you're you. I believe you.”

Scott laughed. “I'm glad you're okay dude.”

“Me too Scotty. Me too.”

 

o0o

 

Scott told him that Deaton wanted to hold off on completing the spell to transfer Derek's psyche back to his own body until Stiles had been given the all clear to come out of hospital and they were sure he had recovered sufficiently from the car accident.

The hospital wanted to keep him in over night for observation. He convinced his Dad to leave him and go and get some rest at home, but he found it difficult to get to sleep properly. He was restless and uncomfortable, his pillows weren't right and he could hear noises from the nurses station and beeping from machinery. He tried to focus on happy memories and feel relaxed. He panicked for a moment when he realized he wasn't wearing the pendent, but realized quickly that it was sitting on the bedside table. With fumbling fingers and a lot of wincing he managed to loop it round his neck. Somehow, just having it with him made him feel more relaxed. Maybe it was psychological, maybe Deaton had just told him the pendent would work to create some kind of placebo effect. To make him believe he _could_ control the nightmares. He could imagine Deaton being sneaky like that. Whatever though it was working. He looped it safely round his neck he and he drifted into sleep a little more easily.

 

o0o

  
He was dreaming again.

It looked a bit like the park where he and Scott had often gone to play as children. He lay on the grass looking out over the lake and watched clouds scud swiftly across the bright blue sky.

He wasn't there long when a shadow fell over him and he glanced up to see Derek looking at him with an expression he couldn't quite parse.

“Hey man!” Stiles said, sitting up and flashing him a relieved smile.

“Hey.” Derek replied.

“You wanna sit down?” Stiles patted the grass next to him.

Derek hesitated a second before joining him. “I think I recognize this, isn't this that park over by the Library?” he asked finally.

“Yeah, Scott and I used to play here all the time as kids.” Stiles replied.

“I used to come here with Laura and Cora too.” Derek volunteered.

“Yeah? Maybe we saw you here.”

Derek shrugged. “It's possible.”

Stiles snuck a look at Derek out of the corner of his eye. He seemed stiff, awkward and Stiles couldn't work out why that should be after all that had happened between them on the beach, he felt sure they'd turned a corner. Derek though, looked kind of tense.

“I'm sorry you're still stuck in here.” Stiles said tapping the side of his head.

Derek glanced at him but said nothing.

“We have most of the ingredients for the spell to get you out but Deaton won't do it until I'm properly recovered and out of the hospital.”

Derek shrugged again. “It's not so bad here.”

“Really?”

“You've stopped having so many nightmares. It's fine.” Derek said.

Something was up with Derek and Stiles couldn't even begin to guess at what. He couldn't stand an awkward silence though.“So, thanks.” Stiles blurted out.

“For what?”

“Fighting off the psycho fairy shapeshifter for me after the accident.”

Derek looked down, his shoulders drooped a little. “It's fine. I mean, I didn't really have a choice, I just woke up in control of your body. I did what anyone would have done.” he glanced up to meet Stiles gaze. “You were pretty badly injured though.”

“Yeah.” Stiles agreed. “In the hospital and everything. I broke two ribs and I'm basically just a giant bruise at the moment.”

“Well, I'm glad you're okay.” Derek said stiffly to a patch of grass somewhere to the left of Stiles.

“We're okay.” Stiles corrected, his heart sinking a little further. “Look, despite what you say, I'm aware that being stuck in my head isn't a picnic okay? And I was really nervous when it happened because after the Nogitsune I didn't want to be sharing my head with anyone. I was worried about not being in control of my own actions and all kinds of shit like that, so I didn't cope with it very well. But even when you got the chance to control my body you just protected me, and logically I'm not surprised by that but psychologically it was just this fear I had after being possessed by the Nogitsune and so the idea of it was freaking me out... and I'm rambling. But you get the point right? Or part of the point? Please tell me you get what I'm saying. I like you man and even though at first this whole situation really freaked me out... if it was going to have happen again then... I'm glad its with you.”

Stiles stopped for breath and Derek looked at him, wry amusement on his face. “Stiles, I get it. It's okay.”

“Okay. It's just I... worried about you, because you seem a little weird today. I wondered if you were freaking out about our massive emotional breakthrough the other day...”

Derek's face closed off. “I-” He began and then paused. “It's not what you think.” Derek said finally. “This week was the anniversary of the fire and I wanted to... I normally go up to where they're- up to where it happened and just spend some time there remembering them...” He continued. “I just realized I wouldn't be able to do that this year and I guess...” He trailed off.

Stiles felt awful. “Oh.” he said in a small voice. “Derek I'm so sorry.”

Derek nodded. “Look, even if I wasn't here,” he gestured around them, “The truth is, the Adhene, or whatever it is means that whole part of the preserve is basically unsafe. I wouldn't be able to go there for that anyway so...”

Stiles gulped and nodded. “No, I get it.” There had to be some way, something that he could do. Going back to the old Hale house was out though even he hadn't been hospitalized by a crazed supernatural creature that was still on the loose. If only...

“Oh my God...” he said suddenly. “I could... what if I could dream us there?” he said cautiously. “I mean it wouldn't be exactly the same, because it'll just be my memories of the house but if you want me to, I could try? I mean it might be better then nothing.”

Derek looked at him uncertainly. “You think you have enough control?” he asked.

Stiles shrugged. “We won't know until we try. Do you want to?” He asked carefully. “I mean if you think it's a sucky idea then just say, I don't wanna tread on your grief man.”

Derek looked thoughtful, “We can try it.” he said nodding. “What do we do?”

Stiles thought back over his recent dreams. “Well before I've just had to really, really want to be somewhere normally because something has trying to kill me. Deaton has been teaching me all these meditation exercises though, so if I focus enough on where I want to be hopefully I will be able to change my dream-scape.”

“Dream-scape?” Derek asked one eyebrow raised.

“Deaton's word dude, not mine.” Stiles replied. “Okay, right, well,” he sat cross legged and faced Derek. “I feel like this might be weird and we can try with out, but it's probably best, I mean if you don't mind...”

“Spit it out Stiles.”

Stiles gulped and reached out his hands palms up. “Hold my hand?” he said nervously. “When we're touching and the dream changes you come straight with me, otherwise it might take you a while to follow on. At least that's how it seems to work, if it bothers you...”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Why would it bother me Stiles?” he mirrored Stiles cross legged pose and placed his large hands into Stiles.

Stiles laughed self consciously. “Right? Why? It's not like... I mean... you're all secure in who you are and it's not like I would...”

Derek looked at him with what might be called fond exasperation. “Get on with it Stiles.”

“Right. Yeah. Getting on with it.” he looked down at where there hands held each other. Derek was a warm solid weight, a tangible reality in the shifting world of his dreams.

What was it Deaton had said? Focus, find a happy place.

He clenched his eyes shut and focused on the feel of Derek's hands in his own. Derek's smile, rarely seen but impossible to forget, sometimes he felt like he could happily spend a lifetime trying to make it appear. Derek's dry sarcastic wit. Derek's courage and loyalty to the people he loved. Stiles found himself smiling. Derek's thumb was moving back and forward over Stiles knuckles rubbing soothingly and Stiles shivered involuntarily.

Okay. Focus on the old Hale house. That's where they needed to be. He pictured it as best he could. The old dirt road winding up to it through the preserve. The way it stood defiantly, charred and battered but still there, still standing despite all the tragedy and heartache. He willed it. Willed them to be there.

Derek's thumb paused in it's ministrations. “Stiles...” he said wonderingly.

Stiles squinted, trying to keep focused and then his eyes opened wide in amazement. All around him the dream was shifting twisting and changing with them in the middle of it and reforming into the preserve, and there they were sitting cross legged, facing each other holding hands on the ground just outside the Hale house.

“I did it!” he shouted, dropping Derek's hands and scrambling to his feet in excitement. “I actually fucking did it!” he looked round at Derek who smiled at him, broadly.

Stiles lunged toward him without thinking and enveloped him in a big bear hug. “Thanks man.” Stiles said enthusiastically, “I couldn't have done it without you!”

Derek hugged him back but said. “This was all you... I didn't do anything.”

Stiles snorted “Of course you did you were my...” he paused as he realised what he had been about to say. Derek was his happy place, thinking about Derek had allowed him to focus to achieve the change. He couldn't exactly say that.He dropped his arms and stepped back out of the hug. “...You were my very supportive friend.” he finished lamely. His heart was going haywire and he was grateful that Derek wasn't able to hear it at the moment.

Derek gave him an odd look and Stiles felt himself blush. He looked away.

“Well here we are.” Stiles said changing the subject. “Will this be... I mean I know it's not the same as actually being here but...”

Derek looked around them. “It's good.” he said with a small sad smile. “You did good.”

“I can go sit over there.” Stiles said uncertainly, gesturing to the tree line. “Give you some space to yourself.”

Derek looked up at him, his green eyes stormy, “Stay.” he said firmly.

“Are you sure?” Stiles said. “I mean I know I'm kind of fidgety and annoying I don't want to...”

“Stay.” Derek said reaching out and taking Stiles hand in his. “Please. I – It...” he swallowed and looked at Stiles imploringly. “I want to remember them, but right now, I don't want to be alone.”

Stiles gripped his hand firmly. “Okay.” he said feeling his heart stutter in his chest. “That's... I can do that.”

They stood there in silence for what felt like forever. Derek just looking out over the ruin of his old family home. Stiles stood quietly next to him as Derek held his hand like his life depended on it. It felt like ages before Derek finally said. “We used to have a herb garden round the back. My Dad liked to cook, he was obsessed with using fresh herbs in everything.”

“Yeah?” Stiles said.

Derek glanced across at him. “He was good at it too. My Mom couldn't... she could do pancakes and that was about it. Whenever I have chocolate chip pancakes I think of her.”

Stiles wanted to say that his Mom made blueberry pancakes. That his Mom did all the cooking in their house until she got sick. That his Dad would have just lived on steak, ice-cream and beer if they let him, but instead he just squeezed Derek's hand reassuringly. This was Derek's place to grieve. Not his.

“I broke that window playing baseball with Laura on two separate occasions.” Derek said gesturing at a window on the first floor. “The second time it happened I was grounded for a week.”

Stiles smiled softly and his heart broke for young Derek Hale, who loved baseball and his Mom's chocolate chip pancakes, and got grounded. It seemed miles away from the man he knew now. The loss of all those things had shaped the man Derek had become. Sometimes when he felt particularly morose he wondered who he would be if his own Mom hadn't died. He would certainly be happier but how much of the person he was now was influenced by her loss? Had her death made him harder? Angrier at the world? More willing to fight for those he loved?

Derek had lost his whole family. Only Cora and Peter remained and one was absent and the other creepy and probably insane. The fact that Derek was still standing, let alone trying to help Scott and do the right thing spoke more about his character anything else ever could. Stiles felt sure he would have completely collapsed in the face of so much loss.

He grasped Derek's hand more tightly and Derek squeezed back.

“I miss them.” Derek said quietly looking out at the burned out shell of his childhood home.

“I know.” Stiles responded softly.

 

o0o

 

The hospital were happy that he was making good progress, and next morning they discharged him with strict instructions for him to rest for the next few days.

His Dad drove him home and ushered him onto the couch, he made sure he was well stocked up on drinks and snacks and told him that Scott would be coming over to keep him company after school while he was at work that evening.

When Scott arrived though Deaton was with him.

“Hey!” Stiles said unaccountably nervous. “Are you going to try and do this spell and separate me and Derek out now?”

“Hello Stiles.” Deaton said. “No, we will not perform the spell today. I want to make sure that you have had a few days to recover before we attempt it.”

“Oh. Okay” Stiles said feeling confused and relieved in equal measure. “So... what brings you here then? Not that you're not welcome. Totally always welcome.” Stiles led them through to his nest of snacks and DVD's on the couch and sat down gingerly wincing in pain.

“I wanted to talk to you about your spark.” Deaton said. “I mentioned before that it would be appropriate for you to have some training and I have a couple of suggestions for you.”

“Cool!” Stiles responded feeling excited. “Will you be teaching me?”

“That is one of the options.” Deaton responded, “However I have been speaking with a friend of mine who runs a Grove in Seattle. They have a lot of experience in dealing with Sparks. They would be very happy to take you in.”

“Oh.” Stiles said feeling his heart plummet. “I mean, that's great but um... Seattle? That's a long way from my Dad and Scott and what about school?”

“They would enrole you at a local school. I know, it's a lot to ask and we would need to speak to your father obviously. The thing is Stiles you are powerful. Far more powerful then I originally realised. You need to go and learn how to tap into that power, how to use it and most importantly how to control it.”

“And if I want to stay in California?”

Deaton looked pensive. “If that is what you want, then we would do that. I will teach you as best I can. It is not, I believe, the best option for your progress as a Spark though.”

Stiles looked down at his hands, there was an ache in his chest now that had nothing to do with two broken ribs. On the one hand living in Beacon Hills had become a nightmare. Endless supernatural disasters, danger and death round every corner. On the other, he had just started to get his life back in the wake of the Nogitsune. He was beginning to re-establish himself with Scott as part of the pack. He had just started to rebuild his relationship with his Dad, not to mention Derek... “I'd rather stay here.” He said firmly. “I don't mind considering applying for university in Seattle and joining the Grove then but I... I can't leave my life here at the moment. I just can't.

Deaton's face remained impassive. “Very well Stiles.” he said. “I will try and do my best to teach you. If you change your mind though, the offer still stands.”

He stood. “Now I must go and leave you to enjoy your evening. Scott. Stiles.” he said nodding at them. “I will let myself out.”

They said there good byes and waited until they heard the click of the front door shutting. Scott turned to Stiles and said. “I would have supported you whatever you decided but I am glad your staying here dude. I would really miss you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah dumbass. I mean if you change your mind and decide to go for it I would a hundred percent have your back but still, I'm stoked you're staying.”

They grinned at each other.

“Mario Kart?” Stiles said.

“Prepare to get your ass handed to you.” Crowed Scott.

 

o0o

 

They were halcyon days. Scott came round as often as he could and they chilled, playing computer games until they could barely keep their eyes open. He spent time hanging out with his Dad, watching TV and just catching up and at night, he found himself chatting to Derek in whatever safe space his subconscious mind conjured for them. More often then not Stiles would practise moving them between dream-scapes. He was becoming really adept at it, but more than that, he was getting to know Derek better and the more he knew the more he cared. The more he cared the more he wished that Derek could one day reciprocate his feelings. When he was with Derek he was happier then he could remember being in a long time, but it was always bitter-sweet.

Gradually his bruises started to yellow, his ribs still ached horribly but he was able to move again a little more easily.

It was over a week since he had been into the wood to hunt for the maybe Adhene with Scott and Derek (the jury was still out on what the thing actually was), but it felt like a lifetime ago. He could barely recognize the change in himself. He felt like he was actually healing in every sense of that word.

Inevitably Deaton called him to ask if he felt well enough to participate in the spell to return Derek's psyche to his own body and he agreed to go to the clinic the following day.

He got into bed that night feeling pretty conflicted. If everything went to plan it would be the last night that Derek spent in his mind, sharing his dreams and he was going to miss him.

On the other hand they had a real friendship now that was all their own, and it was exciting to see how that would play out in the real world.

On the metaphorical third hand once Derek was back in his own body he'd be _back in his own body_ . Which is to say, all his werewolf powers would presumably be back with a vengeance. This fact was causing Stiles no small amount of stress, he was beginning to convince himself that Derek would immediately be able to read Stiles attraction to him and be freaked out.

So far he could only think of two ways of handling this.

Firstly he could admit his feelings to Derek, lay it all on the table, accept the inevitable stinging rejection, and then things would be weird and awkward between them for the foreseeable future. If things went really badly, and he had real confidence in his ability to make things go badly, the tentative friendship between them could even be over.

The alternative to this would involve some pretty hard core pining. It would involve not revealing his feelings, and hoping that if Derek did pick up on them, he would politely ignored them. People lusted after Derek all the time, the man was probably used to it. With this option at least he could probably keep Derek's friendship. He couldn't pretend it wouldn't be painful, because it would. It would be really hard to just sit by and watch as Derek lived and brooded and eventually met some probably super hot, hopefully not evil woman and settled down to have gorgeous, inexplicably grumpy children with expressive eyebrows. It would be hard to watch Derek choose happiness that didn't involve Stiles but Stiles could be happy for him. He wanted Derek to be happy, even if Derek's happiness came at the expense of his own.

This, then, was the difference between his feelings for Derek and his feelings for Lydia. With Lydia he had been so convinced that only _he_ could love her, only _he_ could support her, only _he_ could see her that he hadn't taken into account what _she_ wanted. It had taken an embarrassingly long time for him to see just how fucked up that actually was.

With Derek, he just wanted to see him happy. In his private moments this week he had wondered if one day they could make each other happy. Had fantasized that Derek might just look at him and _see_ him and they would click together like two perfect puzzle pieces , that they could be each others happily ever after. It couldn't happened though, and the truth was, he could find happiness just knowing that Derek was happy. So if there couldn't be a romantic relationship then he would just have to be the best fucking friend Derek could ask for, because that role in Derek's life? That would be better then nothing at all.

It was cold comfort but this was probably a sign of personal growth. His lack of success with Lydia had taught him that dogged pursuit in the face of blatant disinterest was creepy as hell. Also unrequited love sucked, but unrequited and rejected was just awkward as fuck for everyone. So it was option two, friendship with a massive side order of pining that he decided to go for. It felt like the sensible option, the _safe_ option, because if there was one thing he was entirely convinced of, it was that Derek did not think of him _that_ way.

 

o0o

 

He fell asleep that night, his mind still buzzing with these thoughts and found himself dreaming that he was in his own bed. After all the different places that his subconscious had created for him in the last week or so, it felt anticlimactic.

The door to his bedroom opened and Derek walked in and sat down in his desk chair. “You okay?”

“Yeah man. Good news! We're going to Deaton's tomorrow to do the spell. Last night for you in Casa Stilinski.” he sat up in his bed and tapped his forehead.

Derek gave him a small smile. “Yeah? I might miss it here.”

Stiles grinned at him. “Yeah?”

“It was rough at the start. It got better.”

“Yeah it did.” grinned Stiles. “What are you looking forward to the most, y'know once you're on the outside.” Stiles asked.

“Pepperoni pizza, cold beer, go for a run in the preserve.” Derek said promptly.

“In that order?” Stiles asked.

“Yup. Of course that's not what I'm actually _going_ to do.” Derek replied.

“Why not?”

“The Adhene? Unless you're telling me that's all been sorted now.”

Stiles face fell. “Nah, it's still out there somewhere. Although I don't think anyone's seen it since the accident.” He felt guilty though, like somehow the creature not being dealt with was his fault and he wanted to make it up to Derek. “I can provide pizza and beer at my house though, once you're out.I mean not my beer, my Dad's beer. He won't mind sharing.”

“Are you inviting me over once I'm out?” Derek said quirking a brow.

“Um yeah, I guess.” Stiles said, suddenly flustered. “Not that you probably want to see me, I'm probably the last person you want to see right now and I understand that, don't feel like you've got to. I was just, y'know, feeling bad about the fact that you can't do the things you want to after being trapped in my head for over a week. I'm not offended if-”

“Stiles.” Derek said firmly interrupting him. “It's fine. I'd like to come over.”

“Yeah?” Stiles stuttered blushing to the roots of his hair.

“Yeah. Why wouldn't I?” Derek said looking confused.

“Great!” Stiles said in a strangled voice. Oh God. He was doing it wrong already. Too forward. Too needy. Too many _words._ There was no way that was going to go well. Once all Derek's heightened senses had been restored to him all he would smell around Stiles was , lust, awkwardness and furtive boners and then this tentative friendship would be ruined. He would end up doing to Derek what he had done to Lydia. He would be weirdly intense, awkward and off putting until the object of his affections decided to stay the hell away. In that moment it didn't matter to him that he and Lydia were actually friends now, because they'd only accomplished that when his _feelings_ for her had changed to friendship. He knew from bitter experience that once he fell for someone it could take years, _years_ for him to stop obsessing.

He was so fucked. He was fucking this up already and Derek hadn't even got back in his own body.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

Derek must have read something on his face, because his features creased in concern. “Are you all right Stiles?”

“Wha- me? Yeah! Fine! Totally fine. Amazing. Awe-some. Are you fine? I mean obviously you're fine, I mean I've got eyes but...” he curled forward rested his head in his hands. _Shut up Stiles. Just shut up._

“I don't have to come over if you think it would be awkward with your Dad or something.” Derek said completely misunderstanding why Stiles was freaking out.

“He won't mind.” Stiles said stretching the truth to breaking point, “He respects you.” that at least was definitely true. He glanced up.

Derek was looking at him oddly. “You're being weird.”

Stiles sighed and looked down again, he picked fretfully at the cuff of his shirt. “That's me,” He mumbled. “Weird, too talkative, strangely off putting and alone.” He laughed hollowly.

Derek frowned. “Don't do that.” He ground out.

Stiles looked up confused. “Do what?”

“Put yourself down. Don't do it.”

 “You're the one who said I was weird.” Stiles responded defensively.

Derek huffed in frustration. “That's because you're being weird _now._ In this moment.”

Stiles didn't respond, instead he just picked more aggressively at the loose thread of his cuff. He had given himself one job. Be Derek's friend. His stupid feelings meant he was already fucking it up.

Derek rolled cautiously forward on the desk chair until he was sitting just across from Stiles. “You're not going to end up alone. Is this about Lydia?”

Stiles head shot up so fast he nearly got whiplash. “Lydia?!” He gaped. “Why would it be about Lydia?”

“You're in love with Lydia? Right?” Derek said awkwardly not looking directly at him.

Stiles gaped still momentarily at a loss for words. “Oh my God. I can't even...” He stuttered out.

“Look. Lydia is... nice but trust me you'll find another girl Stiles. One that sees how funny and brave and amazing you are and most importantly, one who wants you back.” Derek said looking fiercely at a patch of carpet to the left of Stiles feet.

Stiles sighed. “Okay first of all. Lydia is not _nice. Never_ say that in her presence Derek, if she hears you she will castrate you in a cruel and inventive way and they won't grow back Derek. They will _never_ grow back. Secondly,” He sighed. “ I'm not in love with Lydia any more.” Derek's head snapped up to look at him. Stiles continued. “I haven't been for a while. I mean l love her but I'm not _in_ love with her. We're just friends. It's better that way for us. It's better for us to be just friends.”

“Oh.” Derek said digesting this information. “Then... I mean... what? You're not going to be alone Stiles.”

Stiles sighed, he could see where this was going, and perhaps... perhaps it would be better this way. So much for not telling Derek.

“Look, I'm being weird because basically,” he paused trying to collect his thoughts. “I'm freaking out because I'm attracted to you. I mean I have been for ages, that's not new, and maybe you know that. It's just, until recently that was all it was. I thought you were hot but I didn't _like_ you, partly because I didn't really know you, and also because you were angry and sarcastic all the time, and so it was just a physical _thing,_ _y_ 'know?” he gulped. “ I could handle that. I could just keep being angry and sarcastic right back at you, and besides, I couldn't let myself feel anything more for yet another person who was basically fucking _light years_ out of my league. Not when you were _never_ going to like me back; because I am _so_ over doing that to myself. Just so completely fucking over it. You don't even know." 

He laughed hollowly. "So I was doing fine with this weird hate crush on you, I was.” he sunk his head into his hands. “ Only then _you_ had to get absorbed into my head and I actually got to know you properly, and you had to be so completely _fucking awesome._ I mean so much more awesome then any of us ever gave you credit for, and we've become friends and that is so fucking precious to me, and I really don't want to ruin that .”

He felt choked, and panicked and his heart broke as he said. “Now though, now you're going back into the real world and you'll have all your werewolf powers and within five minutes of being with me in the real world you're going to know. You're going to be able to smell it on me a mile away. I have feelings for you. I like you, as more then a friend, and I know you don't feel that way about me, so I want you to know that I won't put pressure on you. It's just, I'm not very good at hiding how I feel, so this is fair warning for you. I am going to continue to be weird, until I manage to get over you but... you should know that I just want you to be happy, I'm not going to do to you what I did to Lydia, so just try and be patient with me because I want us to be friends Derek. I just want us to be able to be friends. I think that could be good for us -mph.. . ”

Derek had been sitting frozen, his eyes wide with shock while Stiles ranted, at this though he leaned forward swiftly cupped his hand round the back of his neck and kissed him. It wasn't like anything Stiles had imagined. It was chaste and soft and Stiles hesitated before melting into it, every one of his senses singing. All too quickly Derek broke away and leaned his forehead against Stiles', breathing hard.

“I don't want to just be friends.” Derek said hoarsely. “I... It's taken being here in your head to make me recognize this for what it is. I've known for a while that what I felt for you was different, I guess I hadn't really acknowledged to myself why that was but...” he trailed off, and leaned forward again dropping a kiss onto Stiles cheek. “After everything we've been through together this week it's just made everything so clear.”

Stiles leaned back a little. “You're not just saying this because you feel sorry for me?” He asked.

Derek looked revolted. “If I didn't return your feelings Stiles, I'd tell you straight, I would never _never_ pretend to feel something for you that I didn't.”

Stiles thought back to Kate and Jennifer and nodded. “I- I know that, sorry. I'm just not used to feelings being reciprocated I guess.” He looked across into Derek's eyes. “I really like you.”

Derek gave him a small smile. “I really like you too. Can I?” he leaned in a little, his mouth hovering just over Stiles own.

“Oh God yes.” Stiles hummed leaning in to meet him.

There was nothing chaste about this kiss or the next, it quickly devolved into slick, thrusting tongues and frenzied groping; within minutes they were lying on Stiles bed, Derek a welcome weight above him, grinding helplessly against each other through their clothes. Stiles hips bucked chasing the delicious sensation that was coiling low in his groin.

It was Derek who broke the kiss. “We should stop.” he said catching his breath a little.

“What? No! Why?” Stiles said panicked.

Derek rolled onto his back and took a few deep breaths. “Because I don't want our first time together to be in a dream. I want it to be real. I want it to be right.”

Stiles tried to quash his disappointment because Derek had a point. It would be so much better when they could be together and really do all these things. Dreams were... not the same.

He sighed, but snuggled into Derek's side resting his head on Derek's shoulder. Derek's arm snaked round to hold him, his fingers brushing absent-mindedly against Stiles belly.

“We can wait.” Stiles murmured confidently. “After tomorrow we'll have all the time in the world.”

  
  
o0o

 

 

His Dad drove him over to the clinic the next day on his way to work. Stiles felt nervous and excited.

Derek would be waking up.

Derek liked him and he was going to wake up.

They were going to be together.

He arrived and made his way over to the back room where he knew that Derek was laid out still attached to the drip, his face looked peaceful, young. Stiles reached out a hand and ran his hand through Derek's hair stroking it gently. He was allowed to do this now, he didn't feel guilty about it. A small private smile played upon his lips. He bent down and gently kissed Derek's temple.

At that moment, Scott came through the door and Stiles sprang back a little in surprise.

“He-ey!” Scott said, the word trailing off awkwardly as he took in the scene before him. “Is everything okay?” he asked curiously.

“Uh. Yeah.” Stiles said, feeling a little flustered. “Just making sure Derek's uh... okay.” he finished lamely.

“Ok-ay.” Scott said still looking at him oddly.

At that moment Deaton arrived carrying with him a brown box, he placed it down upon a small table and began to open it.

“Stiles. Scott.” he said. He lifted out what appeared to be a small tea set, jade green in color. It was intricate and beautiful.

“What's that?” Stiles asked.

“It is the artifact I was telling you about.” Deaton opened a draw and took out a series of pouches and packets and the bag that contained the shard from the onyx urn and another that contained the creatures hair.

He began to prepare the ingredients, carefully measuring then out, grinding them down and occasionally muttering words under his breath that Stiles could not hear.

Eventually he tipped all of the prepared ingredients into a fine mesh bag with a drawstring top and pulled the string tight.

“Think of this as a tea bag.” he said smiling slightly. “We place it in the tea pot and poor over the hot water. Then when it has brewed for precisely two minutes, you pour it into the cup and drink it.”

“Tea. That's it?” Stiles said numbly.

“Strictly speaking it's _not_ tea, and this” he gestured at the jade tea set. “Is not a teapot, but yes. ”

“You're filling me with confidence here Doc.” Stiles said nervously.

“Honestly Stiles, this is a unique situation. We have no record of anything like this happening before and we are assuming it only happened this time because you are a powerful Spark who as yet has limited control of their power. This is the best guess of some of the wisest and most powerful Druids I know. I can't guarantee it will work, I can't guarantee that there won't be side effects.” Deaton responded.

“Woah! Your bringing up side effects now?” Scott asked disbelievingly. “You don't think it would have been better to mention that earlier? What sort of side effects?”

“I don't know Scott. As I just said this situation is not one that I or anyone I know has come across before.” Deaton responded.

“Derek has to go back into his own body though.” Stiles said feeling tension drop like lead weights into his stomach.

“Yes.” Deaton said gently. “The longer he is out of his body the more difficult it will likely be to return him. Also from a physical point of view his muscles will atrophy. He needs to be returned to himself Stiles.”

Stiles swallowed grimly. “Okay.” he said with courage he didn't feel. “Lets do this.”

It was a simple ceremony. Heating water, carefully preparing the 'tea'. Stiles stood next to Derek's unconscious body letting his hand graze gently against it, feeling the warmth and realness of it. It was hardly any time at all before Deaton was handing him the small jade cup.

“Do I have to drink all of it?” he asked dubiously eyeing the greyish brown liquid in the cup.

“Yes.” Deaton said giving him a rueful smile. “It is likely it will not taste... nice.”

“A master of understatement.” Stiles muttered before drinking the entire thing down quickly.

It was horrible. Genuinely one of the worst things he had ever tasted. It burned a trail down his throat and he staggered clutching at his stomach.

Scott ran to him and tried to support him. “What's going on?” Scott yelled, in panic. Stiles felt himself shaking and shuddering, his stomach churned, before he could stop himself he vomited all over the floor. Almost immediately the pain stopped although his ribs ached. He collapsed to the ground breathing hard.

“That,” he began, “was horrible. Urrghh,” he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleep.

Scott crouched down to him. “You okay man?” he asked, face etched with concern, “No side effects?”

Stiles did a brief check of himself but... no... no... everything seemed to be okay.

“Apart from needing to clean my teeth in the near future I think I'm okay.” He said, smiling at his friend and taking Scott's proffered arm he staggered to his feet.

Derek groaned.

Stiles limped to his side, narrowly avoiding the vomit on the floor. “Derek!” he called eagerly clutching at the older man's hand. “Derek! Are you okay?”

Derek grimaced and his eyelids flickered slowly opening and blinking.

“Derek!” Stiles said again clutching his hand tightly, he felt like he was going to explode with happiness. “It's me.”

“Wha-” Derek's voice sounded cracked from lack of use.

“He's okay!” Whooped Scott joyously. Deaton smiled.

“What happened.” Derek croaked out.

“We did the spell. You're back in you're own body.” Stiles beamed at him still clutching his hand, running his thumb gently over Derek's knuckles.

Derek looked at him a little strangely then glanced down at where their fingers were entwined. He looked back up at Stiles, a look Stiles couldn't parse. “What spell? What happened?”

Stiles felt his stomach sink like a stone. His grip on Derek's hand slackened. “You don't remember what happened?” he asked, suddenly terrified of the answer.

“I remember being in the woods looking for that fucking fairy.” Derek said grumpily. He thought for a minute. “ _You touched the urn_ .” He ground out suddenly. “I told you not to.” Stiles released Derek's hand , it slipped away from him.

“You've been living in Stiles head for like a week.” Scott said. “He accidentally absorbed your psyche into his mind.”

Derek looked angry and confused. “So you could read my mind?” he said to Stiles brusquely.

“N-no.” Stiles said too numb with grief and shock to say much else.

“You only manifested in Stiles dreams I believe.” Deaton said intervening. “You were a complete entity in your own right. He could talk to you and have conversations with you, but he couldn't read your thoughts  and you could not read his.”

“Apart from one time, when the maybe Adhene attacked and knocked Stiles unconscious and then you took over his body briefly.” Scott chimed in.

“Y-you don't remember anything about that?” Stiles asked his voice sounding strange and distant to his own ears.

Derek shook his head.

Stiles nodded. He felt sick, sick to the pit of his stomach. Scott looked at him with concern.

“I'm um... still feeling a little sick from that tea.” Stiles said. “I think I just need to go home and eat saltine crackers and drink water for the rest of the day. Unless you need me for anything?”

Deaton shook his head. “No.”

“Are you okay man? You look really pale.” Scott asked. “Give me your car keys and I'll drive you back.”

“No. It's okay Scotty. I think I'll call my Dad. You stay here and make sure Derek's okay.” Stiles started to back out of the door.

“It's... um... good to have you back Sourwolf.” He gave Derek a weak smile and then fled.

 

o0o

 

His Dad picked him up. Stiles didn't speak the entire journey home. This whole time he had never even remotely considered the idea that Derek would wake up and not remember allthat had passed between them. All the progress they had made as friends and as more then friends had been lost.

His Dad helped him out of the car and walked him back up to the house. As soon as the front door shut behind him. Stiles declined his fathers offers to talk, to help and instead shuffled upstairs and sank on to his bed.

He should have known.

 Should have known better then to allow himself to hope.

None of this felt real.

_None of this felt real._

He felt sick. Utterly heart sick.

His Dad didn't leave him alone for long. He opened the bedroom door silently and came and sat quietly next to him on his bed. Without asking for explanation he wrapped an arm around Stiles shoulders and drew him into a hug.

Stiles buried his face in his Dad's shoulder and sobbed.

 

o0o

  
  
  
Scott texted later to make sure he was okay. Stiles reassured him as best he could, made his excuses about still feeling ill from the awful tea. He couldn't bring himself to tell Scott everything that had happened between him and Derek this week. He didn't want to make it awkward for him.

The next day though Scott called a pack meeting at Derek's apartment to discuss the Adhene and Stiles had no choice but to show up. He still wasn't able to drive so he asked Lydia to pick him up.

When he arrived Malia, Kira, Derek and Scott were already sitting around. More surprising though was the presence of Chris Argent, standing ominously in one corner. Stiles sunk down on the floor near the couch and as far away from Derek as he could be without drawing attention.

“So big news.” Scott began.

“About the Adhene?” Lydia asked.

Scott nodded, looking grave. “It's definitely not an Adhene.” he said.

“So what is it then?” Stiles asked.

“Worse.” Chris said tersely, placing the bestiary on the coffee table for them to view. “I knew when I saw it attacking you Stiles, that it definitely wasn't Fae. The initial confusion was understandable, the mists descending, the people disappearing, even the shapeshifting, that is all associated with the Fae traditionally. The look of it though, and the runes you found in the cave and on trees round the preserve eventually gave it away. Its a demon.” he gestured at the open page of the bestiary.

The pack all leaned over to get a better look. There was a picture, gruesome and realistic, of the huge bat winged creature that had attacked Stiles in his Jeep the previous day. Next to the picture in neat cursive was written.

 _Legion  
_ _Mark 5 v 9: 'My name is Legion for we are many.'_

Underneath this were runes. Runes Stiles had only seen before on the preserve.

Stiles swallowed nervously.

“Is that a Bible verse?” Kira asked curiously.

“Yes. This is an ancient demon, a specific demon, very powerful.” Scott said somberly.

“What does it want?” Malia asked.

“We don't know.” Scott replied. “But we need to find out.”

 

o0o

 

They talked some more. Every now and again Stiles felt Derek's eyes on him. It panicked him a little. God knows what sort of signals he must be giving off, confusion? Unhappiness? He wished he could just sit Derek down and explain. Explain what though? Explain how over the course of a week he and Derek had fallen for each other? What good would it do him? There had been all this self realisation and personal growth on both sides and now _none_ of it counted for anything. It was just too painful to think about.

He was relieved when they finally broke the pack meeting up.

He got Lydia to drop him off at the veterinary clinic and found Deaton out the back taking care of some of the animals. He looked up at Stiles as he entered and gave him a small smile. “Hello Stiles. I trust you are feeling better.”

Stiles paced a little running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah... No... Not really. Do you think Derek will ever get his memory back”

“Derek hasn't lost his memory.” Deaton said curiously.

Stiles snarled in frustration.

Deaton looked confused.

“His memory of what happened in my dreams. In my head. Do you think he'll ever get _those_ memories back?”

Deaton looked thoughtful. “I don't know. My instinct is that it's unlikely though. If he was going to retain them I think he would have woken up with them. Why do you ask?”

“It's just... We made progress. We talked. We became friends, we made peace with each other, we even fell in...” He stopped himself just in time. “Now it's just, he doesn't remember anything and... I just... I miss him.” Stiles said a little brokenly.

Deaton looked at him, intently. “Are you still wearing the pendant Stiles.”

Stiles looked up at him in confusion. “Yeah.” He fished it out from under his t-shirt. “Yeah. Haven't taken it off.”

“Rose Quartz is a stone that has many different uses. It can be used to calm, to bring peace to dreams. In that respect I think it has worked quite well for you?”

Stiles nodded mutely.

“It has other uses as well though. It is known as the stone of unconditional love.”

Stiles blanched feeling sick to the pit of his stomach and clutched at the pendent, “Are you saying this stone made us fall in love. That my spark manipulated me and Derek to have feelings for each other using that stone.” He felt horrified.

Deaton shook his head and put his hands out to placate him. “No. That's not the way it works Stiles. Any... love... you or Derek felt for each other was real. The stone can't create what isn't already there. It just provides clarity, allows you to see your own heart.”

“How would it have affected Derek?” Stiles asked in a choked voice almost afraid to ask.

Deaton shrugged. “It's difficult to say. We know so little about what happened. It is possible though that he was subject to it's influence. It sounds like you made peace with each other, its possible it helped Derek make peace with himself. For the duration of his stay in your mind at least.”

Stiles sank into a nearby chair his head in his hands.

“Deaton came and stood by him. “I feel I must reiterate Stiles. The stone cannot create something out of nothing. It can only reveal what is already there. It allowed you and possibly Derek, to be at peace uninhibited by all the worries and cares that might have weighed you both down. Once you were at peace, you may have realized your _other_ feelings for each other. It provides clarity, makes things clearer, like putting on a pair of reading glasses.”

It was cold fucking comfort. What was he supposed to do, wander up to Derek and say 'Hey! Remember that time when you accidentally got absorbed into my mind? Well, under the influence of a magical stone you realized your feelings for me and although you don't remember any of it I was wondering, how about a date?'

Stiles stood up abruptly. His mind felt like it was on fire.

“I need to learn.” he said. “Will you teach me? I need to learn how to control my spark.”

Deaton nodded.

“I can't leave Beacon Hills though. Not at the moment.”

Deaton nodded again. “I will teach you as much as I can and maybe I will see if you can do a short time away at a Grove, to supplement my knowledge.”

Stiles shrugged. “You're Yoda. I'll follow your lead.”

Deaton raised an eyebrow. “Meet me here at seven am this Saturday. We'll begin your training.”

Stiles nodded. “Thanks.”

 

 

o0o

 

He got in his Jeep and sighed deeply. There was nothing else for it, back to his original plan. Pining from a far it would have to be and this time this time he would do it right.

It was time to grow up. A lifetime ago last week Derek had admitted to Stiles that he liked him. As a friend but still. That much Stiles could be confident was still true. Beneath all the sarcasm and eyebrow drama as far as he knew Derek still liked him, even if he didn't now recognize any romantic interest in him. Well if Derek still cared about him as a friend, Stiles was going to be the best friend Derek could ask for, because Derek as a friend? Better then no Derek in his life at all.

He turned the key and started the engine, and pulled away.

 

o0o

  
  
  
  
  
**I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I always knew this story would end this way. BUT! BUT! - there is a sequel. It's called Remedy and I promise, I PROMISE you it will have a happy ending. It's all planned out and I am in the process of writing it so watch this space.**  
  
**All comments, kudos etc... gratefully received, seriously guys - getting feed back from you has made this whole experience so worth while :-)**  
  
**So take the time to let me know what you think.**  
  
**Also I'm on[tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/yodas-yo-yo), mainly following other people, but still. I'd be interested to hear from anyone and also to take story ideas if you have something you would like to see me write. Other then the sequel to this of course!**

 


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